Where the Map Turns to Blue
by CapriceSquire
Summary: After being sexually dominated by Logan, & coming to the conclusion that his friends had the dreaded Hollywood Fever again, Kendall decides to grab them & run away back to Minnesota. Full KxL, JxC plots. Alcohol/drugs/language/rough sexual content. SLASH.
1. The Main Attraction

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Big Time Rush.**

**Please read and review! :D**

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"A toast to Hollywood!" Kendall slurred, raising his seventh glass of a cherry-flavored liquor. "'Cause it's been fucking awesome!" Logan, James and Carlos let out loud, drunken cheers and clinked their glasses to the blond's. "Hurrah for Hollywood!" The blond grinned, swallowing the glass's contents in one sip.

Life was great. Sure, the long hours in the studio were killer, but the nightlife—well, that was something else. It ROCKED. Seriously, California knew how to throw a party. And Kendall loved parties. Almost nothing made him happier than getting shitfaced with his three best friends, and this Friday night was no exception.

"Woo!" Carlos bounced, spilling half of his drink on James's charcoal Fred Perry vest. "You little cunt!" James screamed. "This vest is brand new!" He shoved his drink at Logan, who downed it in less then three seconds. James tackled the Latino to the ground. A scuffle ensued, prompting the other people in the packed club to cheer. "Fight!" they yelled. Because everyone likes to watch a good club brawl.

Kendall watched along with everyone else for a few moments, laughing. Then he reached down, pulling James off of Carlos. "Dude, stop it. Gustavo's gonna kill us if you get a black eye. You're Big Time Rush's face."

James tried to wrench himself from the blond's grip, but he was too drunk. "Aw, Carlos's such a pussy—he can't hurt me," he sniggered.

Carlos quickly rose from the floor. A green ray from the psychedelic light machine crossed his face in the otherwise dark club, lighting up his overly-dilated pupils. Kendall knew then that the Latino had found Guitar Dude and his friends somewhere in the sunken restroom in the back; shooting up whatever substance they could find.

"Oh yeah?" Carlos laughed like a child. "How's this for a pussy?" He lunged at James, knocking the pretty boy and Kendall to the floor and punched James in the face, putting him out.

A wild cheer rose up in the crowd. Kendall chuckled at Carlos's victory leap and excited fist pumps, knowing that he would have never hurt James if he was sober. "That's right!" the Latino yelled. "Anymore takers?" he challenged. A red head with low slung jeans, a white wife-beater, a backwards white cap and a vicious smirk pushed his way to him. "Let's go, baby!" he snarled.

"Whoa! No." Kendall slammed himself in front of an overly-cocky Carlos. "That's enough." He looked out at the excited crowd, waving his hand at them. "There's nothing else to see—continue your partying!" The crowd groaned but resumed their dancing, and almost immediately the pending fight was forgotten.

"Aw, Kendall!" Carlos loudly protested. He tried to take a swing at Kendall's face, but the blond ducked. "I could have SO taken him on!"

Kendall laughed, grabbing his friend's wrists firmly. "No, he would've _killed_ you. Come on, lets go get another drink." He turned to find Logan.

The brunette was trying to pull an unconscious James off the floor. He looked up. "A little help here?" he demanded.

Kendall elbowed Carlos in the ribs before letting go of him to help Logan. "See what you did, Carlitos? Now he's gonna wake up with a black eye."

Carlos grabbed James from under his arms and lifted. "He was totally asking for it," he growled, but his face was illuminated by a large grin. "Come on, let's go put him on one of those couches." He motioned towards the dimly lit lounging area.

After depositing the passed out pop star on a maroon seat, Kendall looked at his two conscious, but very drunk friends and smiled. Carlos was tickling Logan, and the brunette was laughing like a hyena. "Stop it, Carlos!" Logan squealed, batting the Latino's hands away. Carlos playfully tackled him onto another seat. "Never!"

Kendall laughed with them, then turned away, determined to get another drink. Snatching one off of a table, he quickly downed it and belched loudly. After tossing the glass over his shoulder, he went to go join the bulk of the crowd on the dance floor, pushing his way towards the center, one goal in mind. After catching a scantily-clad blonde's eye, he started dancing with her, much to her delight.

"You're Kendall Knight!" She shouted over the ear-pounding music.

Kendall grinned. "Right you are!" he yelled right back.

After grinding with her for a few minutes, he threw one arm around her waist and pulled her into himself. Leaning down, he whispered into her ear, "How about we leave this place?"

The blonde half-smiled seductively, biting her lip slightly. "Sure," she mouthed, grabbing his hand. Kendall then began to lead her through the crowd, smirking at his quick victory and night ahead. He had already made reservations at The Hilton before arriving at the club; the key card to 546 burning a hole in his pocket.

Suddenly an even tipsier Logan stumbled into his path. "Kendall!" He looked at the accompanying blonde and starting giggling. "Kendall scored!" he slurred. "You got a room in some hotel, right?" Kendall could feel the blonde stiffen, and she let go of his hand. Logan didn't take any notice, instead rambling right on: "Aw, she looks just like Jo!"

The blonde turned and looked up at Kendall, disgusted. "I will not be used," she snarled before snaking away through the sea of people.

Kendall glared at Logan, who was still giggling uncontrollably. "Fuck you, Logan!"

Logan affectionately punched the blond's chest. He stared up at him through half-lidded eyes, his lashes long and fluttering. "Yeah, you know you want to."

Kendall couldn't help but laugh. "Ew, gross."

The brunette flashed him a lopsided grin. "That's not what Camille said!"

Kendall rolled his eyes. "She's an actress—and it's called acting for a reason!"

Logan shook his head vigorously. "Bro, that was _so_ not acting!" He suddenly reached over and poked the blond's tummy, tickling him. "Tickle, tickle!"

Kendall grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug. "If you just wanted to dance with me, all you had to do was tell me," Kendall giggled, cocky.

"Yeah right, like I wanna dance with you," the brunette snickered, but he made no effort to pull away. "But now that I've scared your fuck away, I might as well!" And suddenly, just like that, Logan whipped himself around and ground his ass into Kendall's crotch.

Kendall was caught off guard. Sure, they had done more than enough dirty talking to each other, but it had never really amounted to anything. And he had freak-danced with plenty of girls, but never a _guy_, much less his best friend. Not even when they were fucked up on alcohol and partying. But even as his mind hit the pause, his instincts took over and threw his body back up against Logan's.

When he finally reconnected, he found himself roughly grabbing the brunette's waist and grinding hard against him. "Fuck, Logan," he hissed. "You're gonna get yourself raped."

He felt Logan growl against him. "Who says I'm going to be the one getting raped?"

Kendall laughed darkly. "It's not rape if I say yes."

Logan stopped grinding against him and turned around. He cunningly grinned up at the blond again, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him down to his level, slamming his lips roughly against the blond's.

Again, this was not something Kendall was accustomed to. But he couldn't help but grab Logan and pull him in as well, ravishing him, with his hot lips and liquor-sweet breath. He could sense the crowd taking notice—loud gasps, fingers pointing and cell phone cameras capturing the heated, raw moment; the main attraction. He knew the pictures would reach all the tabloid's hotlines within the next ten minutes, but he didn't care.

Finally the brunette pulled away, letting go of the blond's wrinkled collar. He smirked.

Kendall reached over and grabbed Logan's biceps, grasping the hard muscle with an uninhibited lust. "Like you said before, I have a hotel key," he growled huskily.

"Then what are we still doing here?" Logan muttered back. He grabbed Kendall's hand and the two intoxicated boys pushed their way through the astonished, snickering crowd, and ran out of the club.


	2. The Stars Within Yourself

**Disclaimer: I don't own Big Time Rush.**

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"The night is young, the light is out the door, today was crazy but, tonight the city's ours," James mumbled. He was excruciatingly tired, and had this strange feeling in his stomach, which meant he was going to be sick in the morning. His right eye ached: a dull, hollow pain that could only mean—

"A black eye!" he shouted, shooting up. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small round mirror. Sure enough, a fist-sized purple bruise was forming. "Dammit!" he shrieked, knowing exactly who had caused it. He shoved the mirror back into his pocket. "Carlos!"

He looked around. The club was still jammed; a "City is Ours" remix thundering through the building. Then he saw who he was looking for, and despite the pain in his eye, smiled: the Latino was passed out on the couch in front of him, curled up on his side.

James stood up and knelt by his best friend's side. "Carlos." He nudged his shoulder. "Wake up—let's go home." Carlos let out a small yawn and stretched out his arms. "Okay," he responded.

James sighed and picked the Latino up, carrying him bridal style towards the door. Carlos could be such a baby when he was tired and hungover. "Papi," the cradled boy whispered, murmuring in Spanish.

James rolled his eyes. "Uh yeah, sure. Whatever." Once they were outside, the pretty boy searched around for the Big Time Rush Mobile, but the car had disappeared. "Dammit!" he yelled. "Fucking Kendall and Logan took the car." He gently put Carlos on the pavement and extracted his phone from his pocket, calling a cab. After that was done, James sat down next to his best friend, cradling his head in his lap.

Even when he was drunk, high, and passed out, James still thought the raven-haired boy was beautiful. Even if he was the cause of his black eye. He lovingly wiped away a drop of drool from the corner of the sleeping boy's mouth. "You know," he chuckled, "I oughta kill you for making me un-pretty, but sometimes you're just so damned cute."

Carlos opened his eyes and looked up at the bruised pretty boy. He smiled. Then his eyes fluttered back shut, drawing him back into the world of hallucinogen-induced slumber.

When the cab arrived, James picked him up again and sat him upright in the backseat. After getting in himself and giving the driver directions to the Palmwoods, he wrapped his arms around the Latino and nestled his chin on the top of his head. Carlos shifted slightly, turning in towards James, resting his head against his chest.

"He's your boyfriend?"

James looked up at the cab driver. Judging by his casual tone, it was safe to say that the older man did not know who they were. "No," the pretty boy said quietly, a trace of sadness in his voice. But he hugged Carlos a little bit tighter anyway.

James had been in love with Carlos for as long as he could remember, which was actually lot—at least when it came to the Latino, anyway. They had grown up together: squabbling like siblings over Jello cups and Legos; falling asleep together on the same mat during nap time. As the boys grew older, the subjects of their bickering changed, and they didn't nap together anymore—but the relationship was still there. But as time went on, it grew to be somewhat lopsided—James's love for Carlos was more than just brotherly affection, but the Latino, on the other hand, was very much interested in girls. So James kept his mouth shut, quietly accepting the fact that their relationship would always be one of best-friendship, and nothing more.

After arriving at the Palmwoods and paying the cab driver his fare, James took Carlos up in his arms again and carried him through the lobby, heading for the elevator.

"Psst...James!"

James stopped and directed his gaze towards the voice.

Guitar Dude was sitting at his usual spot on the edge of the planter by the pool, smoking a blunt. He motioned for James to come over. The pretty boy complied, walking out of the lobby and climbing up onto the ledge as well, adjusting a sleeping Carlos in his lap. "Hey."

Guitar Dude wordlessly handed him the roll, and James took a hit, gently blowing a stream of smoke up into the night sky. They watched the rings float away, disintegrating into the air a few feet away.

The druggie gestured towards Carlos. "How long has he been out?"

James looked down at the Latino and handed the blunt back. "I don't actually know—he hit me in the club and I passed out." He pointed to his eye. "But when I woke up, he was already asleep. What did you give him?"

Guitar Dude chuckled. "Nothing big—just poppers."

"Oh."

They sat in silence, trading the blunt back and forth between them. Soon, James's eye didn't hurt at all, and instead of feeling tired, he felt relaxed.

He sighed, looking up at the only three visible stars in the sky. "It really sucks not being able to see the stars. In Minnesota, you can see hundreds of them." His eyes took on a faraway look. "But out here—I kinda feel lost without them."

Guitar Dude looked up at the sky. "I know what you mean, man. It's the same back in Illinois. But you've gotta find the stars within yourself." The druggie paused, taking the last hit. "I did."

James looked at him. "How?"

Guitar Dude's laugh resounded all around the pool area. "I won't tell you how, but it was in Venice Beach." A phone began to vibrate, and Guitar Dude reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a scuffed phone, flipping it open.

"Nice," he laughed. He passed the phone to James. "Check your friends out."

The pretty boy's eyes grew wide. The picture was grainy, but it was definitely a shot of Kendall and Logan making out. He whistled. "And I thought _I_ was drunk."

"You sure ain't acting like it," Guitar Dude commented as he took his phone back.

"I guess that all ended when Carlos punched me in the face." He yawned, grasped the Latino tighter and slid off the ledge. "I'm going to bed. See you later."

"'Night," Guitar Dude called after him.

When James opened the door to apartment 2J, he was immediately met by a very frazzled woman with her hair in rollers and worry lines on her face. He stiffened, and prayed she wouldn't smell the alcohol and weed on them.

"James! Carlos! It's one-fifty in the morning—curfew was HOURS ago!" Mrs. Knight quickly shut the door as to not awaken the neighbors. "Where are Kendall and Logan?" she demanded.

James had no idea. And since they had taken off in the Big Time Rush Mobile, they could have been anywhere in Southern California by then. But he had to cover for his friends. "They're sleeping over at Christopher's apartment." He didn't even know a Christopher, but Mrs. Knight didn't know that.

She bought it. "Oh, okay... But the next time you boys decide to stay the night at your friends', let me know first, okay?" She gave him a tired smile, but it quickly turned into a worried frown again. She reached for James's cheek. "What happened to your eye?" she asked. "Did you get into a fight?"

James chuckled and shook his head. He gestured at the still-sleeping boy in his arms. "We were wrestling, and it went horribly wrong," he kind of lied. "But it's okay—he didn't mean it." It wasn't too far from the truth.

He started for his bed. "'Night, Mrs. Knight," he said over his shoulder, thankful that she hadn't noticed the smell.

"Goodnight, James."

In the room he and Carlos shared, James pulled off the Latino's shoes and tucked him into bed. Then he took off his own shoes and flopped down onto his own bed; exhaustion seeping back in. But after holding Carlos for so long, his arms felt strangely empty.

He gazed at the figure in the bed across from his. Should he..?

"Oh fuck it," he muttered. Snatching up his pillow, he stepped over to the other's bed and crawled in next to him. James hugged Carlos to himself again, hoping the Latino wouldn't be too weirded out in the morning.

Soon he was asleep, joining Carlos in the world of colorful and drug-provoked dreams.


	3. A Whole Slew of Galaxies

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own them.**

**Note: The rating has been switched to M.**

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If Logan's rock-hard erection wasn't obvious in the dark club, it was now.

He stumbled out into the dark street hand-in-hand with Kendall; his laughter so obnoxiously loud the bouncer gave him a wry, Hollywood-is-so-fucking-insane look.

The blond stumbled against him, his drunken laughter resembling something of a wolf's howl, which made Logan laugh even harder.

"You sound like a fucking wolf," he sniggered.

Kendall growled, but his eyes were dancing. "Yeah, and I'm the alpha-male, and you—" he slammed Logan against the Big Time Rush Mobile's passenger door, "are my bitch." He pushed the brunette over the door and into the vehicle, throwing himself on top of him. He raked his fingers through his dark hair and kissed him roughly.

Logan squirmed, trying to throw him off. When he found that he couldn't, he snaked his hand in between them and grabbed Kendall's package, smirking at the way the blond's grip instantly loosened in favor of arching into the brunette's grasp. "Logan!" he hissed.

The brunette snickered. "That's right. Say _my_ name, because as it turns out, _I'm_ the alpha-male, and you—" He tugged Kendall hard. The blond groaned. "Are _my_ bitch." He gave Kendall another shove, successfully freeing himself before jumping into the driver's seat, revving the engine up.

Kendall laughed loudly from the passenger's seat. "We'll see about that." He eyed Logan with a mixture of hunger and possession. "Now fucking drive. Hilton."

Usually Logan was the one who deemed things safe or unsafe, like driving whilst drunk—UNSAFE; but when the alcohol set in, all forms of reasoning flew south for the winter. He was vicious, foul-mouthed, and like Carlos, cocky—everything he was naturally not. It was also only then that he questioned Kendall's born-dominance.

Logan shot the blond a toxic glare. "Bitch, don't tell me what to do." But he pulled the vehicle out of it's parking space and they shot down the street, racing through the heart of Los Angeles.

Not wearing a seat belt (another thing Sober Logan would have condemned to the depths of hell), Kendall flung himself onto the brunette, causing the car to swerve dangerously near the curb. He went straight for Logan's belt buckle, undoing the clamp and unbuttoning his jeans. He stopped there, looking up; a devious smirk on his face.

Logan threw his head back and growled, and it was a fucking miracle they didn't fly off the highway. He grabbed a handful of the blond's hair and yanked, snarling, "DON'T. FUCKING. TEASE. ME." He let go, grinning at the small tuft of light-colored hair left in his palm.

Kendall groaned, returning his attention to the brunette's crotch. He tugged down the zipper, hooked his fingers around the waist band on his boxers and pulled them down with his jeans. Then, not even pausing for a moment, Kendall shoved Logan's hard member into his mouth.

"FUCK!" Logan screamed, slamming his foot on the accelerator. The Big Time Rush Mobile shot forward, quickly reaching 75, 80, 85, 90 miles per hour, and it was _another_ fucking miracle that there weren't any cars in front of them or that the CHP hadn't seen them.

Kendall snickered, sending a shock wave up the brunette's spine. He slowly slipped his mouth off with a "pop", and much to Logan's dismay, settled back into the passenger seat. The brunette made a face. "Kendall!" he protested.

The blond merely laughed.

After actually making it to the Hilton in one piece and without attracting the attention of the police—but definitely earning a strange look from the concierge; the boys stumbled lip-to-lip into Suite 546. The door hadn't even clicked shut, but they were already at each other's clothes—the sound of ripping cloth and half-muttered, lust-filled phrases filling the room.

Logan broke off the kiss, digging his fingers into Kendall's shoulders. "Say I'm the alpha—and _maybe_ I'll go easy on you," he growled. He grabbed the television's remote control and turned the set on, pressing the volume button several times. He tossed the remote over his shoulder. "And that," he muttered, "is so no one hears your screams."

Kendall laughed darkly. "Screams? Logie, _you're_ gonna be the one screaming for _more_."

Logan cocked his head slightly. "We'll see, Knight." He lunged for Kendall, but the blond was quick; he grabbed the brunette by the waist and kissed him forcefully. Logan fought to regain control, resulting in their traveling across the room.

They slammed onto the bedside table, smashing the porcelain lamp into a million little pieces. The room plunged into darkness, the only light coming from the flickering television. Logan clawed at Kendall's bare back with one hand and pulled his hair with the other, smirking at the blond's whimpers. He shoved him up against the wall, demanding, "Say it!"

Kendall glared at him. "Never," he growled. His narrowed eyes are nothing but black pupil, and there was a deep red scratch on his left cheek. He pushed Logan off of him but the brunette almost instantly grabbed hold of him again, yanking him off of the table and slamming him onto the carpet.

"Who's the fucking alpha now?" he hissed, pinning Kendall's wrists down above his head with one hand and grasping the blond's erection, smearing the pre-cum with the other.

Kendall thrust up into Logan's hand, a low, guttural moan escaping his throat. Then he suddenly shot up, snatching the brunette up and pummeling him into the bed. "Fuck," he snarled, "You're so fucking bad, Logan." He bit down on his best friend's shoulder, scraping his teeth across the pale skin and drawing blood.

Logan wrenched himself out of Kendall's grasp, and in one solitary motion, yanked the blond down and threw himself onto him, gasping when their erections crashed together. "You're a "knight"; where's your shining armor?" He snickered. "Oh wait—I got rid of that." He brought his fingers up to his mouth, licked them, then pressed them against Kendall's entrance.

The blond eyed him viciously. "Don't even fucking think about it, Mitchell!"

Logan laughed loudly. "Watch me." He thrust himself deep into the blond, who let out a blood-curdling scream that even the television couldn't disguise. Logan quickly slammed a hand across his mouth, and thrust back in—this time hitting the lucky spot. Kendall arched his back, shuddering violently. He ripped Logan's hand away, gasping, "Oh God!" He bucked himself up in time with the brunette's thrusts. "More!"

Logan grinned at the blond's submission. He snatched up another handful of Kendall's hair, who let out another loud yelp.

"Say it!" Logan yelled.

Kendall's eyes never left his, except for the moments his face contorted in ecstasy. "Fine!" he gasped. "You're the alpha-male!"

"And you are?"

Sweat trickled down the blond's jawline. "Your bitch!" he cried.

Logan howled. "What was that? Say it again!"

"YOUR BITCH!" Kendall screamed, and the pressure against his prostate must have been delicious because he shot off like a rocket all over Logan's abs. And the brunette thought this was the hottest thing he had EVER seen; he came so hard he saw stars and the moon and a WHOLE SLEW of galaxies. He collapsed next to his best friend, who was still shaking through the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

Finally Kendall looked at him. "You bitch," he panted.

Logan let out a laugh, but it was a tired one. "Bet you thought you were going to be doing the fucking tonight, didn't you?"

"Fuck you, Logan." But he was smiling.

And they didn't speak anymore, and soon, they finally fell asleep.


	4. As Her Outfit Alone

** Disclaimer: I don't own any part of BTR.**

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When Carlos awoke, the first thing he became aware of was his empty stomach. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Oh boy—it's breakfast time!" He kicked off the covers and and leaped out of bed, eager to know what Mrs. Knight had cooked for his consumption. He ran from the room and into the kitchen, where Katie was sitting at the counter, eating a bowl of cornflakes.

She yawned. "If you're wondering what breakfast is, it's this." She looked at her bowl and wrinkled her nose. She hated cornflakes.

Carlos was devastated. "Why? Where did Mrs. Knight go?"

"Tyler's mom convinced her to go to some Aggressive Parenting conference." She stirred her cereal absentmindedly, prompting some of the milk to slosh over the sides. "And it's a good thing she's not here, or she'd be asking James A LOT of questions."

Carlos frowned. "Why, what did he do?" Then it occurred to him that he hadn't seen the pretty boy in their room earlier. "Where is he, anyway?"

A loud retching noise from the bathroom answered his questions.

Katie made a face. "Ugh, gross!" She pushed her cereal bowl away and hopped off her stool. "I can't be here anymore—I'm going to the pool." She darted for the door and left.

Carlos went straight for the bathroom, cautiously opening the door a crack. "James?"

"Ye—" Another retch.

Carlos opened the door to find James on his knees, vomiting into the toilet. "James!" Carlos ran to the pretty boy and ducked over him, sweeping the hair out of his face. His hair was stringy with cold sweat. "Are you okay?"

James hurled into the toilet again. The Latino winced, trying to ignore the smell. Finally the pretty boy stopped shuddering for a moment.

"No, Carlos, I'm not—graghh."

Carlos winced again. "Oh man, I better get Logan. He'll know what to do!"

"Don't—graghh—bother—he's still—graghh! not home." James shook and let out another violent hurl. "Ughh." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and reclined against the Latino's legs, panting.

Carlos kept him propped up with one hand while he sat down on the cold tile. Then he let the pretty boy fall back against his chest.

"Whoa," Carlos chuckled. "Guess last night was crazy, right?"

He was asking because he had no personal recollection of the night's events. Whenever Carlos was drunk and/or high, his mind would wipe out before he awoke, making it impossible for him to remember anything.

It really sucked, especially when Kendall had told him a month ago that he had lost his virginity during one of those drunken spells. Carlos _hated_ not being able to remember that; having to go off of Kendall's word: Her name was either Melinda or Melissa, and she had dark, slightly wavy hair that was so long she could have worn it as her outfit alone. Sometimes when he would go to the mall with James, he would look out over the sea of faces, half-hoping he would see her, but of course, he never did.

It was a similar story when it came to the title: "Hollywood Super Party King of Hollywood." James, Kendall and Logan had told him all about that crazy night, spinning images of an angry Bitters, a dancing Griffin and Russian acrobats; but it really upset Carlos that he would never remember any of it.

"It was pretty insane," James muttered. "You—" He suddenly gulped, and Carlos assumed he had swallowed back some bile. "You passed out in the club. And Kendall and Logan made out—I didn't see it, but there's some picture going around." He looked up at the Latino.

Carlos's eyes grew wide. "Kendall and Logan? No way! That's so—" He suddenly gasped. "James, what happened to your eye? Did you get in a fight?"

James was still looking up at him. "Yeah, kind of. But it's okay—I took care of him. Don't worry about it." He gave him a wan smile. "Well, I guess now that I'm done puking, I better take a shower."

Carlos nodded and gave him a hug, being careful not to squeeze him too hard. "Okay." He stood up and flushed the toilet. "See you in, I don't know—a million years?" he laughed, knowing that the pretty boy liked to take _very_ long showers.

James stuck his tongue out at him from the floor and stood up. He pushed the Latino out of the bathroom, laughing. "That's it—out!" He slammed the door and Carlos could hear the click of the lock as it was being turned into place.

"Fine!" the Latino yelled, but he was laughing as well. "Just remember that I'm always the one who holds your hair back when you puke!"

He wandered over to the cupboards, opening one and grabbing the box of cereal. Without bothering to locate a carton of milk, he made off back towards his and James's room.

In the bedroom, he realized that he was still in his clubbing clothes. He sighed, beginning to change into the bright blue pajamas with various pictures of sporting equipment that Mrs. Knight had bought him.

It wasn't fair. He would never remember the night beforehand: the drinks, the dancing, the laughter. He would never remember James's fight, and whether or not he had backed him up. _And hell_, he would never even remember his own first time.

He grabbed his helmet off the floor, slamming it onto his head. Then he settled himself in his bed again, perfectly content to cram dry cornflakes into his mouth.


	5. In the Good Company

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Kendall squirmed a bit, trying to find a comfortable position. His whole body just hurt, and his scalp—not his head, just his scalp—ached.

He smirked to himself, still half asleep. Yes, she must have been a feisty one, considering how tired he felt. Now, if only he could remember her name... or what she looked like, even. Oh well, it didn't matter—he had gotten what he wanted, hadn't he?

He rolled over, his eyes still closed, and wrapped his arms around her... Wow, this chick had really broad shoulders... and hard biceps... and no breasts... and smelled like... like... LOGAN?

Kendall's eyes snapped open. He would have screamed if he hadn't been gasping like an asthmatic. He flung himself away from the brunette and onto the floor, horrified.

On the carpet, he examined his naked-self: his body was covered in red, raised scratches and multiple bruises—and as the night's events came rushing back to him, he was sure some of those bruises were inside of him as well.

He shot off the floor and tackled the still-sleeping brunette. "Logan! Wake the fuck up! Wake up!"

Logan sleepily opened his eyes. He eyed the blond strangely. "Kendall," he muttered," why are you naked?"

Kendall grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard. "Logan! Think! What happened last night?"

The brunette appeared to be pensive, and the memory must have come along quickly because the next moment his eyes widened to the point where it almost seemed comical.

"OHMYGOD I'VE BEEN VIOLATED!" he screamed. He drew the covers up to his chin, absolute horror scrawled across his pale face. "I've become a statistic," he squeaked.

Kendall let out an exasperated huff. "_You_ feel VIOLATED? What about ME?" He winced, reaching up to clutch his head. "And—ow—I swear you pulled like half of my hair out!" He glared at the cowering brunette.

"Kendall," Logan whispered. "What are we going to do?" He looked around the room, gasping when his gaze landed on the broken lamp. "We broke a lamp? Oh my God..." He started rocking himself, breathing noisily.

Oh my God, he was having a panic attack.

Kendall tackled his hyperventilating best friend again. "Logie, breathe! Breathe! It's just a lamp!"

Logan rolled over and buried his face into the pillow. "But we are going to be in so much trouble," came the muffled reply.

Kendall winced, knowing he was probably right. He sighed. "We're never gonna be allowed in another L.A. hotel again... Just like Gustavo and all the members of Aerosmith."

Suddenly Logan lifted his head. "Unless—how did you pay for this room anyway?"

"I put it on the Rocque Records account."

Logan groaned and dropped his head back down. "We're screwed... I can't believe this happened."

The blond sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. "Me neither... Man, I can't believe you came onto me like that!"

Logan sat up immediately, protesting: "I was drunk!" He looked scandalized. "And it's not like you said no—I distinctly recall you screaming that you were 'my bitch'!"

Kendall was silent. This was true.

So they sat there, quiet. Presently, Logan began hyperventilating again.

Kendall wanted to hug him, but seeing as they were both still naked, he decided it wouldn't be a very good idea. "Logie, you gotta breathe."

Gasp. "I am breathing! It's just that—Oh my God!" Logan was looking at himself, eyes wide in shock. "I'm all scratched up! What did you DO to me?"

Kendall frowned. "What did _I_ do? At least _you're_ not the one who's bruised internally!" he shouted. "You're the one who—" He stopped yelling. "Logan?"

Dammit. Now Logan was crying. Kendall felt terrible—he hadn't made the brunette cry since they were twelve years-old, when he had accidentally broken some doodad on the smarter kid's beloved science project on the night of the science fair. He gave a small sigh. "Logan, I'm sorry."

Logan wiped furiously at his eyes. "No, it's not your fault, it's—" He looked at the blond. "Oh God." He bolted from the bed and rushed into the bathroom.

Kendall winced at the loud retching noise a moment later.

And then, there was a shriek.

"Oh my God! Your jizz is all over me!" Another retch, followed by a series of gasps.

"Logan! BREATHE!" Kendall started to run for the bathroom, but quickly stopped. He tore the sheet off the bed and covered himself before bursting into the tiny room. "You've gotta—"

"Don't look at me!"

"But you're—"

"Don't look at me!"

"Logan I'm not—"

"KENDALL!"

"Okay! I'm not looking!" Kendall turned away, and before he knew it, he was being pushed out of the bathroom.

"I'm taking a shower." Logan shut the door in his face. "So don't come in here!"

Kendall threw his hands up in exasperation, forgetting he was holding up the sheet. "Why would I—" He reached down, hastily snatching up the fallen fabric. "Ugh, never mind."

Twenty-minutes later, Logan still hadn't come out of the shower, which was weird for a sixteen year-old boy, unless he was James.

Kendall banged his fists on the door. "Logan! Are you okay in there?"

He could hear the water shut off, and a moment later, the door abruptly opened.

"I'm fine," Logan snapped, pushing past the blond in a towel. "Now hurry up and shower so we can leave."

Kendall stared at him. What the fuck was going on? That brunette had gone from breath-affecting panic to complete bitchiness. He shook his head, wincing when his sore scalp protested.

After a much needed shower, Kendall emerged from the bathroom cautiously, as if any sudden movements could aggravate his overly-tense best friend.

The brunette was still in his towel. He was sitting on the bedside table, trying to piece the broken lamp back together.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Logan said quietly. "I'm just a little freaked out, okay? Actually, scratch that—I'm REALLY freaked out." He looked up at the blond. Kendall thought he was going to start hyperventilating again, but he didn't.

Kendall managed a small smile. "I'm really freaked out too." He really was; it wasn't everyday you woke up next to your best friend, naked, and realize you've been fucked by him during a drunken haze. But right now, he had to be the rock; make decisions—he would save the pending freak out for later for when he was alone and in the good company of a bottle of scotch. He sighed. "But can we just forget about it? Like, NEVER speak of it again?"

Logan toyed with the fringe of his towel. "This goes to the grave?"

"To the grave."

Logan tossed the lamp's remains on the floor. He stood up. "Okay."

They stared at each other for a long moment, each of them unsure of what to do next.

"Um." Kendall cleared his throat. "We should probably get dressed."

Logan nodded. "Right."

Kendall found his jeans kicked halfway under the bed, his shirt by the door; both articles of clothing were missing their buttons. He took in a deep breath and dressed himself. At least he wouldn't have to leave the hotel in just a towel. But seriously, what the hell did Logan have against _buttons_?

"Kendall?"

Kendall looked up from his zipper. "Yeah?"

Logan held up his own shirt. Or what was at one point, a shirt.

The blond flushed. "That's my fault, isn't it?"

"Yup."

Kendall didn't really want to, but again, the best friend in him wouldn't allow him to be selfish. He shrugged out of his own shirt and threw it at the brunette. "Here. It doesn't have buttons anymore, but you can still wear it."

Logan finally smiled for the first time since waking. "Thanks." He slipped it on.

"I can put new buttons on it later, if you want," the brunette offered.

Kendall waved him away. "Just forget about it."


	6. With No Regard

** Disclaimer: Don't own any part of BTR.**

**I'm so sorry for the long wait! I've been busy with end-of-the-semester studying and the stress pushed me into a sort of writer's block: the ideas were all there, but the sentences weren't flowing. But I think I'm almost out of that funk :)**

**Read and Review! And thank you for waiting!**

* * *

Although he wasn't the one driving, Logan kept his eyes glued to the road.

He tried to keep his mind occupied with NASA's recent announcement concerning their new theories on Venus, but his thoughts kept returning to the night before; replaying the whole scenario until he felt nauseous. He squirmed in his seat; the awkward silence in the vehicle quickly becoming unbearable: Kendall hadn't said a word since they had left the Hilton.

"So," the brunette started, desperate to hear something other than the Los Angeles traffic, "What time is it?"

"I dunno—I'm driving," Kendall muttered. "Check your phone or something."

Logan reddened. Well, that was stupid. "Right."

He didn't know why he was so insistent on hearing the blond's voice—it wasn't as if they hadn't ever sat in silence before. He dared himself to look at him: the way the shirtless blond gripped the wheel made him even more uncomfortable. He looked as if he was trying to make the car fly by his will alone; concentration etched in every ridge of his face.

And then there was that big red scratch on his cheek. Logan winced; that was his fault, wasn't it? Oh God... He was definitely going to lay off the alcohol for a very long time, considering the fact that liquor seemed to turn him into some sort of animalistic, sex-crazed beast with no regard for gender-boundaries. He stared at the blond, feeling himself fall into shock again.

Presently Kendall turned to look at him, catching his stare. "Um, what?"

Logan felt himself flush scarlet again. Now Kendall probably thought he wanted to jump his bones again. Not that he hadn't enjoyed it—when he was drunk, at least—but that was besides the point.

"Um, nothing." He looked out at the road again, attempting to look nonchalant. At least no one else would ever know what had gone on the previous night. The embarrassed brunette smiled. It was going to be a lot easier to just forget if it wasn't mentioned.

Kendall raised his notorious eyebrows. "Uh, okay... Hey did you see what time it was?"

"No—I'll check now." The brunette reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny black phone. He flipped it open. "It's—"

The color drained from his face.

Six people had forwarded him the same message: a picture of him and Kendall in the club, kissing.

"Kendall," he squeaked.

"Yeah?"

Wordlessly, Logan handed him the phone.

"Logan I can't look at it—I'm driving. Can't it—Oh my God." Kendall dropped the phone into his lap and pulled over to the side of the street. He buried his face in his hands for a moment. "The kiss!" he groaned. "We forgot about the kiss!"

Logan barely heard him. He stared into his lap, breathing heavily; trying not to panic... Oh God, EVERYONE KNEW: Carlos, James, Camille, Guitar Dude... The head of admissions at every major university! He began to shake.

Kendall grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to look at the blond. "Logan! You've got to stop doing that! Breathe!"

The brunette sucked in a raspy breath. "Everyone knows!" he yelled. "Camille knows! Kendall—_Jo knows!_"

This seemed to floor the blond. Kendall let go of him and sunk back into the driver's seat. "Shit."

"Okay," he said a moment later, "No one knows about the hotel. So we'll just say we were drunk, which is practically the truth." He grinned.

Logan looked at him, still struggling to catch his breath. "But we're all beat up! How are we going to explain that?"

"I don't know! We'll—We'll tell them we got in a fight, okay?"

Again, the brunette barely heard him.

"LOGAN! Come on, breathe!"

* * *

After Kendall had managed to get some oxygen back into the panicky brunette's lungs, the two boys finally arrived back at the Palmwood's.

Their walk through the lobby was an extremely uncomfortable one. Hushed whispers of speculation wafted around them from all angles; Logan could only imagine how ridiculous they looked: scratched and bruised and Kendall being only half-dressed. The brunette shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the carpet, fighting off the urge to break into a mad run for the elevator.

When they finally made it to their floor, they were met with a surprise: loud, familiar shouts filled the hall.

"Where's Kendall?"

"I don't know! I haven't seen them since yesterday!"

"LIAR!"

"No, I'm serious!"

"You! You tell me!"

"Ow, Camille, no! You're hurting me!"

Logan and Kendall ran down the hall toward the source of the noises. The brunette gasped.

Camille had poor Carlos in a headlock, James was trying to pry the method actress off of the struggling Latino, and a red-faced Jo was yelling at all three of them, demanding to know where her boyfriend was.

"Whoa! What's going on?" Kendall yelled.

Camille released her grip on the Latino, letting him drop into James's arms. "LOGAN!" she screamed. She leaped onto the brunette, knocking him to the floor.

"Camille! Ow!" he protested.

Suddenly he felt the sting of a well-placed slap across his face. "Owww!" he wailed. "What was that for?"

Camille thrust her phone in his face, the glow of the screen nearly blinding him. "HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN THIS?"

Logan felt his cheeks turn to fire. "W-Well, um—um"

"YOU STUPID DOGS!"

Logan froze. There was only one other person that he was more afraid of than his psychotic girlfriend.

Gustavo stomped down the hall towards them, causing a small earthquake. Kelly was trying to keep up with him, but she too, looked terrified.

The hefty producer snatched Kendall's bare shoulder and threw him against the wall. He shoved a tabloid into his face. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MEANING OF THIS? ARE YOU AND SMART BOY GAY FOR EACH OTHER NOW OR SOMETHING?"

Logan closed his eyes at that last statement.

It wasn't even remotely like that. Maybe he had been the one that had come onto Kendall in the first place, but he wasn't gay. Never. _He had been drunk._

When he opened his eyes, he was horrified to discover that tears were trickling down the sides of his face—and it was too late to stop them.

He gave Camille a rough shove, knocking her onto the carpet besides him. He jumped up quickly and stared into Gustavo's fuming, red face.

"Just make it go away," he half-pleaded, half-cried.

Then he shot into 2J, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

"What in the world is going on here?" Mrs. Knight demanded. Tyler's mother stood next to her, carrying a large stack of brochures and Aggressive Parenting books.

Gustavo shot the single mother an incredulous look, as if it were her fault that her son and his best friend were destroying Big Time Rush's "wholesome boys" image. "These dogs went out last night and got wasted enough to make out in a stupid club where everyone could see them!"

Mrs. Knight gave him a confused look. "No, James told me Kendall and Logan slept over at their friend Christopher's." She looked at the pretty boy. "Right, James?"

James looked extremely uncomfortable. He stared down at the floor and didn't answer.

Gustavo handed the tabloid to her. "No, they went out and partied. All four of them." He glared at the three boys standing up against the wall, not unlike a police line-up.

Mrs. Knight flipped through the magazine, scanning the story for a few moments. "James, you lied to me. I can't believe it," she said softly. "After all I've done for you boys..." Her voice trailed off.

Tyler's mother put a hand on her shoulder, passing the pile of literature to the stunned woman. "Here—you need them more than I do." She turned to leave for a moment, but leaned back. "And remember what Agnes told us today: Discipline." She left.

Mrs. Knight looked at the stack in her arms for a second, then looked up. She gave her son and her adopted-sons a stern glare. "Boys, you are all grounded for a month. And besides that, there will be other consequences. I am extremely disappointed with you all." Then she focused her gaze upon her first-born. "Kendall, give me the car keys."

Kendall's mouth dropped open. "Mom, no!" he protested.

The single mother balanced the stack on her hip with one hand and held out the other. "Kendall, NOW."

The blond hesitantly reached into his pocket and pulled out the Big Time Rush Mobile's keys. "But Mom..." he whined quietly.

Mrs. Knight grabbed the keys away from him and dropped them into her purse. "I want you all to go to your rooms immediately and go to bed. No dinner."

Carlos looked as if he were about to cry. "But it's barely three o'clock!"

"I don't care. GO."

The boys fell into a single file line and shuffled into the apartment.


	7. Stuck in This Fantasy

**Disclaimer: I don't any part of BTR. Or Uno.**

**Thank you to everyone who has Alert-ed, Favorited, and Reviewed!**

**Read & Review! :)**

* * *

Although he had been grounded for more than two weeks already, James was secretly enjoying every minute of his sentence.

Being forced to stay indoors except when going to school and to the studio gave James hours and hours of quality time with the rambunctious Latino. Together they would laugh, wrestle, play dome hockey and even hide-and-seek; once Carlos even fell into a deep sleep on the pretty boy's bed after a particularly rough wrestling match, giving James the perfect opportunity to cuddle with him for a bit.

Mrs. Knight had given them charge of almost all of the household chores, including the laundry and clean-up duty, but tonight the boys were to make dinner while she read a Louis L'Amour paperback in her bedroom and Katie drew up her latest business plans.

Kendall buried his face in the open refrigerator. "There's nothing good in here," he moaned.

Carlos quickly opened a cupboard and poked around inside. His face lit up. "I found something good!" he exclaimed triumphantly.

Although James was a terrible cook and the kitchen steam did crazy things to his hair, he didn't really mind being in the kitchen with his best friends—ESPECIALLY since Carlos had insisted on wearing a white chef's hat. He looked so cute; it took almost all of the pretty boy's will and strength not to snatch him up and carry him away to their bedroom.

Logan held up a hand. "It's okay guys—I've got this." He put a pot of string-beans on the stove.

"But where are we going to put the macaronies?" Carlos whined, waving a box of macaroni in the brunette's face.

Logan sighed. "Carlos, like I've said at least a dozen times before: it's 'macaroni', not 'macaronies'. And we're not having any."

The Latino made a face. "But I don't want to eat string-beans! I'm tired of eating your health food." He crossed his arms defiantly and looked at James, requesting backup with his eyes. "Right, James? Tell him you want macaronies!"

James grinned. "Yeah Logan, we want 'macaronies'," he said, giggling at the death glare Logan shot him.

Logan crossed his arms. "Fine," he spat, snatching the box out of Carlos's hand. He turned back to the stove, grumbling something about fiber and having to wait in line for the bathroom later.

"Hooray!" Carlos cheered, throwing his fist up into the air. "Victory is mine!"

Kendall began to laugh. He walked over to Logan and put his arm around his shoulders, frowning when the brunette squeaked and jumped away. "Geez, I was just gonna say we can have string-beans too."

Logan's cheeks went pink, and he was suddenly very jittery. "I—um, have to—uh, make a phone call." He dashed out of the kitchen.

James rolled his eyes. "Is he still freaking out about that kiss?"

Kendall shrugged. "Guess so. It's not like it meant anything though." But he stole a worried, indecisive glance towards the bedroom he shared with the brunette.

A knock at the door distracted them from Logan's strange behavior. "I'll get it!" Carlos shouted, running for the door.

"No!" Kendall yelled. "What if it's Camille? If she gets in here we'll NEVER get her out!"

Not a day had passed in the last two weeks where Camille hadn't shown up at the apartment, fuming, to slap either Kendall or Logan. Eventually the boys had just stopped opening the door, leaving her to scream at them from out in the hall until Bitters threatened to evict her.

"GO AWAY, CAMILLE!" James, Carlos, and Kendall shouted in unison.

"It's not Camille," a voice at the door called. "It's Jo."

Kendall pushed Carlos out of the way and opened the door. "Hey!"

Jo didn't look very enthusiastic to see him, but she was courteous. "Hey Kendall. Where are the other guys?"

James and Carlos popped up from behind the blond. "Hey Jo," they greeted her simultaneously.

The blonde smiled at them. "Hey guys. Listen, I just came by to tell you Bitter's is leaving for the weekend, which means that his nephew Brock is gonna fill in for him."

Kendall shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "So? What's there to know about Brock?"

Jo smiled. "He's totally chill—and he told me 3C is empty, so that's where the party's at on Friday night. And when Brock throws a party..." Her smile metamorphosed into a full-fledged grin, "it's awesome."

James pushed Kendall out of the doorway. "But does he know how to throw a party like a _Hollywood Super Party King of Hollywood_?" he growled, raising an eyebrow.

Carlos jumped in beside him. "Yeah, does he?"

Jo laughed. "He definitely knows—"

"Jo honey," Mrs. Knight called loudly from her room. "It's time to leave."

The blonde smiled. "I'll talk to you guys later," she called over her shoulder as she left.

Carlos stomped his foot angrily. "That guy's trying to steal our party cred!"

James growled. "I know—but we're grounded until the end of forever," he pointed out.

Kendall coughed quietly. "So?"

James and Carlos turned to look at the blond, grinning.

Kendall nodded, his mouth curling into that infamous smirk Gustavo hated so much.

"LOGAN!" he yelled. "Get over here!"

* * *

Although Mrs. Knight and her daughter had gone to sleep at least an hour and a half before, the boys sneaked out of the apartment at half-hour intervals in order to bring their natural noise level down convincingly. Kendall had been the first to leave, and Carlos had left a mere three minutes before this Friday's present moment.

"Draw Two," Logan called out happily.

James and the brunette were sitting on the carpet in the pretty boy's and Carlos's room, playing Uno until it was their turn to leave.

"Fuck you," the pretty boy snapped, but he was smiling. He grabbed two more cards and sighed. "I need a beer." He looked at the brunette. "How about you? Oh, it's your turn by the way."

Logan plunked down a red Reverse and another red Draw Two. "Are you kidding me?" he replied, incredulous. "The last time I got drunk I—" He paled, turning his face to the floor. "Draw Two," he muttered meekly.

James furrowed his eyebrows. "What happened?" Then his eyes widened in realization. "Oh wait—never mind, I just remembered. But it was just a kiss, right?"

Logan gave an audible swallow and nodded. "Draw Two," he repeated.

James grabbed the required cards, but his mind was far from the Uno game. He hadn't told ANYONE he was gay—much less that he had been in love with Carlos for most of his sixteen year-old life. And after watching Logan go through all sorts of freak outs over one silly kiss, he wasn't too sure he would be telling any of his best friends anytime soon; which sucked for obvious reasons, but also because James always thought Logan and Kendall would be good for each other.

"So I guess you'll be the only sober one tonight?"

Logan threw down a Wild Draw Four. "Yup. Draw six—the color is still red."

"No," James protested. "It says four, not six."

The brunette gave him a smug smirk. "Yeah, but there's a Draw Two beneath it, which is added to the Draw Four, bringing it to a total of—"

"Six," James chimed in. "I'm not stupid. God, you're such a smart ass."

Logan grinned. "Thank you. Now draw six!"

James drew six more cards and punched the floor. "They're all fucking blue!"

Logan laughed. "That's because Carlos shuffled them." He looked at his phone. "Hey, it's midnight. Do you want to go now or wait another thirty minutes?"

James shook his head. "You go—I'll wait. _This Hollywood Super Party King of Hollywood has to make an entrance._" He wagged his fingers in front of his face.

Logan snorted. "Alright then. See you later." He stood and left, leaving the pretty boy alone with their Uno game.

James dropped his cards on the carpet and spread out on his back. Now to wait until _twelve-thirty._ He yawned.

He wondered what Carlos was doing—probably getting drunk, or high off of whatever Guitar Dude was giving him. And then the Latino was probably chasing after the Jennifers, who were more than likely drunk as well—maybe even drunk enough to—

James leaped off the floor and out of the bedroom. "Drunk or not, they better keep their fucking hands off of him," he spat under his breath, and sneaked out the front door.

* * *

3C was deafeningly loud with Black Eyed Peas tunes and smelled of smoke and beer. James slipped into the heavily-packed living room, forgetting about "making an entrance" and focusing completely on finding Carlos.

He pushed past the gyrating bodies, nearly crying out in exasperation when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. "What?" he shouted, but the music drowned him out.

A tall red head pushed a can of Miller in his hand. She fluttered her obnoxiously long, fake eyelashes. "Why don't you dance, James?" she mouthed.

"No thanks; I'm looking for someone." He pushed the beer back into her hand and shoved past her, leaving her fuming.

Where was that Latino? It didn't look as if he was in the living room at all, so the pretty boy forced himself into the considerably-quiet-but-still-loud kitchen, where instead of Carlos, he found _Logan_ with a gaggle of guys huddled around a table, playing beer pong.

James walked over to the brunette, grabbing his shoulder. "Thought you said you weren't gonna drink," he sniggered.

Logan threw the ping pong ball, watching it land into a cup at the far side of the table. "I wasn't," he growled, the look of competition in his eyes fierce. "But these guys challenged me."

James raised an eyebrow. "Okay—hey have you seen Carlos?"

Logan shook his head. "Nope. Hey Harvey, I bet you can't make it three times in a row!"

"Wanna bet, Mitchell?"

James turned away and left the kitchen, shoving his way into the hall. "Carlos!" he yelled, but of course, no one heard him.

After walking in on various couples in the bedrooms and closets, the pretty boy threw open the last bedroom door and suddenly stopped.

He couldn't see anyone in the darkness, but he immediately recognized the Latino's voice.

"NO, _I'm_ the Hollywood Super Party King of Hollywood!"

James followed the sound of Carlos's voice, stumbling across the dark bedroom until he ran into some heavy drapes. "What the fuck," he muttered, grabbing the cloth and throwing it aside.

Carlos was out on the balcony, a red plastic cup in his left hand; his right curled into a fist. He was arguing vehemently with a tall, ripped, black-haired male who made James, although he hated to admit it, feel like a mere sparrow next to an eagle.

The stranger was leaning against the railing, ease in his eyes and a smirk on his face. He looked over at James, giving him an obvious size-up. "Oh, your little friend's here," he snickered.

"Little?" James stepped out onto the balcony, walking right up into the stranger's face. They looked to be the same height. "I'm fucking six-two."

The eagle laughed. "Five-three, baby. Get it right."

Carlos butted in between them. "This guy thinks he's _better_ than the Hollywood Super Party Kings of Hollywood!"

"Well he isn't." James's hands curled into fists. "Who the fuck are you anyway?"

The stranger ran a hand through his jet black hair. "Brock." His eyes flickered down to the pretty boy's fists for a moment, then back up. "And if you hit me, I'll have you evicted."

Heat seared through James's veins; his anger rising. But Brock was right—he couldn't hit Bitters's nephew; the record label wouldn't pay for any other lodgings besides the Palmwoods.

He unclenched his fists and sighed. Grabbing the Latino's arm, he huffed away back into the apartment.

"Where are we going?" Carlos demanded.

"Home," James muttered.

Carlos waved his cup erratically in the pretty boy's face, spilling most of its contents. "Can we get more first?"

James stopped tugging Carlos along for a moment, giving him an incredulous look. "NO. Now put the cup down and let's leave."

Carlos made a face. "But I want moreee," he whined.

James sighed, wondering how much he had drunk already. "No."

Carlos stared up at him, and for a moment James wanted to cry. Drunk and whiny or not, that Latino pulled on his heartstrings so hard it hurt.

The pretty boy took his cup and handed it off to a random person, who was all too pleased to receive it. Then he grabbed Carlos and threw him over his shoulder, grasping him tighter when the Latino tried to fight him off.

"No!" Carlos screamed, kicking as if he were an angry four year-old.

James pushed their way through the crowd towards the door, ignoring the curious stares. "Stop kicking!" he yelled.

Finally he managed to get the Latino and himself out of the dark apartment, through the hall and into the elevator. "So much for partying," he muttered to himself.

Carlos struggled to free himself. "Put me down!" he demanded, but his words were slurred. "I'm a Hollywood Super Party King of Hollywood!" He gave a final kick, slumping in defeat.

When they reached 2J, James stopped in front of the door. "Carlos."

The Latino was already falling asleep. "Hmm?"

"I'm gonna put you down, but you have to promise to be quiet."

Carlos yawned. "'Kay."

James set him down and gently opened the door. They slipped inside, heading straight for their bedroom.

Without bothering to turn on the light, James flopped down on his bed, ready to forget Brock and his party cred-stealing. He buried his face into his pillow, listening to his best friend settle himself on his own bed.

He was going to have to figure out a way to earn Carlos's and his titles back, that was for sure. But how? James had never been good at making plans—Kendall was usually the master at that. He turned onto his side, pensive.

He stared at the half-asleep Latino, wishing he could have his way with him right then and there.

Then he realized that he could.

It wasn't as if Carlos was ever going to remember any of it. James, on the other hand, could have as much fun as he wanted; it would be his own little secret.

He quietly slid off his bed and perched on Carlos's. His hands drifted over the hem of the Latino's shirt for a moment, hesitating—he couldn't believe he was about to do this; then he snatched at the cloth and brought it up over Carlos's head, pulling his arms free. The pretty boy put the shirt aside and went next for his best friend's jeans, undoing the button and zipper. He pulled them off, letting them drop to the floor.

Carlos peered at him strangely. "Are we going swimming?"

James couldn't help but quietly laugh. "No—but this will be more fun." He stood, stripping down to his boxers.

Carlos rolled onto his side. "Then why are we in boxers?" he yawned.

James pushed the Latino onto his back, straddling him. "Shh." Then he finally dared himself to do what he had always wanted: kiss him.

Cupping Carlos's face in his hands, he took a deep breath and leaned down, brushing his lips over his best friend's. He was hesitant at first, shy—but he quickly grew bold, pushing the Latino down into the bed, grasping his shoulders so hard his fingers left bruises. But he didn't care—all he knew was that Carlos was going to be his—HIS, finally—even if it was for only one night. He sat up, feeling himself harden; gasping for air.

Carlos's eyes were wide with confusion. But then he yawned again, this time succumbing to sleep.

James didn't mind; he licked a trail of sloppy kisses down the Latino's neck and front, stopping where his happy trail of hair hit the waistband of his boxers. The pretty boy looked up, checking Carlos's face for a reaction.

Good. He was still asleep.

James slipped his fingers beneath the elastic, wrenching the cloth off and tossing it away. He sat back for a long moment, letting his eyes roam freely. Naturally, he had already seen Carlos naked multiple times before, but he had never let himself look for more than a split-second. But here—God, he was beautiful.

The pretty boy allowed himself another eyeful before getting rid of his own uncomfortable underwear. He brought his thumb up to his mouth and licked it, pressing it against Carlos's entrance. The Latino shifted slightly, but went on sleeping.

James grasped Carlos's hips and positioned himself. He took in a deep breath and—

Exhaled.

He couldn't do it.

Not like this. And suddenly James hated himself; he couldn't believe he had been willing to take advantage of the love of his life like that. He leaned over the Latino and gently pressed his lips against his forehead, whispering, "I'm sorry, buddy."

He redressed Carlos in his pajamas and tucked him into bed. Then he stood and walked over to the window, turning his face up to the smoggy night sky.

Those same three stars stared down at him, mocking him with their dim, pinpoints of brightness. James searched for more stars, desperate, squinting until his head hurt, but he never found any others; not here, in this city they called The City of Angels—where the only things he had come to find were demons, himself included. Stuck in this fantasy—he finally realized why all fantastical stories were laden with dragons and witches—they never found their lucky stars.


	8. Lust and Hostility

**Disclaimer: I own a laptop that gives me headaches, but not BTR.**

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* * *

From his spot on the couch, Kendall could see Jo flirting with Brock, and he didn't like it one bit. His eyes narrowed as his jealousy grew: he didn't understand it—they had already talked about what happened between him and Logan—just the kiss; no one needed to know that _other_ thing—and Jo had agreed that it was most likely due to simple drunkenness. So why did she insist on being distant? Kendall twiddled his thumbs jealously, feeling more and more pathetic as the minutes went by. He looked to the couples making out on the couch on both sides of him and reddened, realizing just how out of place he must have looked.

Sighing, he put his can of Miller on the floor and stood up. If Jo preferred hanging around Brock as to with Kendall, that was _fine_—he didn't need her anyway. But what he did need was to pee. Rather than going into 3C's bathroom and risking being chased out by a half-dressed, hormonally-irritated couple, he decided to trudge down to the lobby bathroom.

When he walked into the elevator he had the distinct feeling of being followed, but when he turned to look back out into the hall, the metal doors had already slid shut and the elevator had begun its descent.

Putting it off as just being off his game, Kendall continued his trek for the bathroom. Upon reaching it and taking care of his business, he washed his hands absentmindedly, watching the tap water spill over his skin.

Suddenly someone grabbed his shoulders and shoved him up against the cold tile wall. He grimaced at the hollow pain in his forehead. "Ow!"

"Hello Kendall," he heard Logan snarl behind him.

The blond wrenched himself out of Logan's grasp and whipped himself around, yelling, "What the fuck, Logan? What was that—"

He stopped; and he would never admit it, but something like fear rose up within him at that moment. The brunette in front of him wasn't Logan—he was, in that he was still the same navy argyle-sweater, jeans, and Vans-wearing sixteen year-old; but his eyes—his eyes were something else. His eyes, usually so sweetly chocolate-brown, were pure, bottomless black.

Kendall had seen that look only once—exactly three weeks before.

Logan grabbed hold of the blond's collar and drew himself up to his height. "Surprise," he snickered, kissing him roughly.

Kendall tried to pry him off, but although the brunette was shorter than him, he was just as strong; probably from carrying so many books home routinely. Finally the blond gave up, tasting the liquor on Logan's lips and wincing at the low throb in his forehead.

The brunette broke away suddenly. Snatching Kendall's wrist, he growled, "Come on, _bitch_." He yanked the blond out of the bathroom and into the deserted lobby, slamming him against the front desk. "Say it," he snarled.

Kendall furrowed his eyebrows. "Say w-what?" he stammered out of confusion.

Logan smirked. "Don't play stupid with me, Kendall. Say I'm the alpha."

Kendall sucked in a quick, incredulous breath. He drew himself away from the high counter and into his best friend's face. "This again?" he nearly shouted. Fueled by his sudden incredulity, he grabbed Logan and quickly knocked him to the floor, pinning his shoulders down. _He_ was the fucking alpha-male, and he would sooner go to hell than to renounce it _ever again_. He dug his fingers into Logan's shoulders, hoping it hurt. "_Beta_," he hissed.

The brunette was unfazed. He shoved the blond off of him and stood up. "Really?" he chuckled. His hands curled into fists. "You sure about that?" He took a step towards Kendall.

And then there was a lot of shoving, and of course, a few well-placed punches that sent both of them flying over the front desk. Here, on the floor, Logan took the upper-hand in the fight. Taking hold of Kendall's shirt collar again, he pulled him up.

"Who's the fucking alpha now?" he spat.

Kendall growled. "Not you." He lunged for Logan's throat, but the brunette was quick: he caught hold of Kendall's wrists with one hand and opened the door to Bitters's private office with the other. Wrenching the two of them inside, he kicked the door shut behind him.

"Say it!" he snarled. He shoved the blond's back down onto Bitters's desk, yanking his hair.

Suddenly Kendall stiffened; not because of the pain, but because his body seemed to associate hair-pulling with—_pleasure?_

This did not go unnoticed. "You like it when I pull your hair, don't you," Logan growled, smirking. It wasn't a question. He palmed the tented-front of the blond's jeans and gave his hair another yank, at which Kendall emitted a loud whimper.

"Tell me you like it when I pull your hair," the brunette demanded. "And maybe I'll touch you."

Kendall looked up into Logan's eyes, which were flooded with an unbridled combination of lust and hostility. God, that was _hot_. The blond ground himself harder into Logan's palm, desperate for more friction.

"Say it!" Logan yelled.

Pushing himself harder, the blond cried out, "I like it when you pull my hair!"

Logan cupped him harder. "Now say I'm the alpha."

Kendall snapped back to attention. "No!"

The brunette raised an eyebrow. "Fine." But he ran his thumb lightly over Kendall's crotch, prompting the blond to let out a loud gasp.

Kendall swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to beg for a full touch. But as the seconds ticked by and his dick grew uncomfortably harder, it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to keep his mouth shut. Finally he couldn't take it anymore.

Reaching down and grabbing hold of Logan's hand, he pushed the brunette's palm down on himself. "Please, Logan," he whined.

Logan snickered. "Say it," he said, the corners of his mouth curling up into a half-smile. With his other hand, he gave the blond's hair another sharp pull.

Kendall half-snarled, half-whimpered. "Never."

The brunette yanked his hair again, laughing at the loud, strangled moan Kendall let out. He undid the button and zipper on Kendall's jeans, slipped his hand inside and gave him a rough stroke.

Kendall threw his head back and shuddered, knocking the computer keyboard off the desk. "Yes!" he groaned.

Logan drew back his hand. "Say it," he insisted once more, a hint of sexed-teasing in his voice.

Kendall brought his head back up and glared at him. "You're enjoying this, aren't you, _beta_," he snapped.

Logan laughed darkly. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."

Kendall stared up at him from his spot on the desk. So many fucking things were wrong with this picture: _he_, of all people, was strewn on his back, defenseless—and that fucking bookworm—oh, how he wanted to _kill_ him—kept teasing him mercilessly.

In spite of his pride, he let a low, frustrated whine slip.

"Frustrated much?" Logan snickered. He bent down over the blond, bringing his lips close to his. "Say it," he hissed.

Kendall squirmed, feeling the brunette's hot breath spill over his face. _Fuck_. That fucking nerd was never going to touch him, and Kendall was unfortunately, beginning to get desperate. His dick throbbed painfully; beads of hormonally-charged sweat began to slide down the sides of his face. He whined again.

"Say it!" Logan hissed again.

"Fine!" Kendall screamed, and it was a wonder that no one heard him. "You're the fucking alpha! Now fucking touch me!"

Logan kissed him roughly. "Finally," he growled. He pulled off of the blond and yanked his jeans off, grasping Kendall's erection from the base and drawing his grip upwards.

Kendall moaned. The hand-job was nice—but he wanted more. He narrowed his eyes. "Logan, fuck me," he demanded.

The brunette let go of him and grabbed hold of his collar, snarling, "Oh, I will."

Kendall watched Logan unbutton and unzip his jeans—and he was absolutely positive that the bookworm was taking his "grand, own time" on purpose. Exasperated, he sat up and reached over, yanking Logan's boxers and jeans down to about mid-thigh. "Leave them," he muttered viciously, "and just fuck me already."

But Logan was clearly not done teasing him. He smeared his pre-cum lightly against Kendall's entrance, causing the blond to gasp loudly when he felt a draft hit. "Logan, if you don't—" He screamed at the sudden thrust, then felt a hand slam over his mouth, muffling him.

Logan withdrew himself about halfway. "Dammit, Kendall! If you don't shut up, people are going to come down here and find us," he hissed. Suddenly he laughed. "Can you imagine their faces? Kendall fucking Knight getting sodomized by none other than _me_—so shut the fuck up."

Kendall stared up at him and nodded. But when the brunette took his hand away and thrust up against Kendall's prostate, the blond produced yet another loud, strangled yelp. He threw his pelvis up against Logan's; squeezing his eyes shut in ecstasy. "Oh fuck," he moaned.

Then Logan did something that brought Kendall overwhelmingly close to pleasure-induced mania: he reached down between them, curling his fingers around a small tuft of the blond's pubic hair—and gave it a sharp, delicious tug.

Kendall practically screamed with pleasure—he arched his back so violently he hit his head on the hard desk, rendering himself unconscious for a few moments.

When he came to, he looked straight into the domineering brunette's black-shot eyes, demanding in a strained voice, "Again!"

Logan half-snarled. "I'll do you one better." He took hold of the hair on Kendall's head with his other hand, and gave them both a good, hard yank.

It was too much for Kendall. He harshly bucked himself up, shrieking as he hit the peak of his orgasm; gasping rapidly when his cold-sweat drenched through his shirt, causing him to shiver violently. He exploded onto the front of Logan's sweater, crying out one last, high-pitched noise that resembled something of a wail.

God, this was so fucking wrong.

Because there was one little detail that made this encounter very different from the first one.

Kendall wasn't drunk.


	9. And a Villain in the Sheets

**Disclaimer: I don't own Big Time Rush.**

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He shuddered harshly, staring up at the foam-gray ceiling; his mind blank. He wasn't even sure if he had passed out again or not—he couldn't remember _anything_ after having the best orgasm of his _life_, so yeah, he probably had passed out. Again.

Then Kendall realized that it was going to be impossible to keep this one from Logan.

He shakily propped himself up on his arms and looked down at the brunette. He was sitting on the floor, his jeans re-zipped, leaning against the door—the face of raw irony. Kendall almost laughed: Sober, Logan was sweet, smart, and well-mannered; wasted, he was a complete _monster_, and a villain in the sheets—or Bitters's office, in this case.

Kendall didn't know why he did it. He had only had half a can of beer back in 3C, so he knew it wasn't the alcohol's doing. He had been fine, fighting off the monster he called his best friend, but when Logan pulled his hair—something within Kendall disconnected. Or connected. He didn't know which one.

The brunette looked up at him, sweat streaked across his stony face. "Finally. Get dressed," he said coldly.

Kendall's eyes widened, but he complied. Wordlessly, he slid off the desk, found his jeans, and began redressing himself.

When he finished, Logan stood up and without giving the blond so much as a glance, opened the door and left.

Kendall trudged after him silently, if not awkwardly. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he wondered anxiously over what it was that he had to do to keep this a secret from the brunette. Logan wasn't like Carlos, who conveniently couldn't remember a single damn thing after a night of partying; no, the brunette would actually remember this encounter, freak out for who knows how long and successfully give himself an asthma attack, and then question Kendall's sexuality. And Kendall refused to let that happen—one, because Kendall Knight was _straight_, and two, because maybe he didn't want to admit to himself that his book-loving, math-obsessed best friend could completely _dominate_ him into unconsciousness.

And again, Kendall Knight was fully, thoroughly, and unconditionally straight.

At least he fervently hoped so.

Not surprisingly, Logan ignored him in the elevator as well, mechanically slamming his hand over the button for their floor. The blond stared down at the industrial carpet; he couldn't help but feel a tiny bit _hurt_. But it wasn't as if it meant anything, Kendall reminded himself. He slid his gaze over to the silent brunette.

His eyes widened.

Logan's sweater had a large cum-stain on it, straight across the argyle.

And in spite of the circumstances, Kendall grinned—and the perfect scheme unveiled itself.

It was fairly simple: all he had to do was somehow get a hold of Logan's sweater, wash it, and toss it on the floor beside the brunette's bed. Logan would wake up in the morning, see that it was _clean_, and deem the whole night as a freakishly-realistic nightmare.

"What are you smiling about?" Logan suddenly demanded.

Kendall gulped. "Nothing," he quickly muttered. He wiped the grin off of his face and dropped his gaze to the floor, praying Logan wouldn't ask anymore questions.

And luckily for him, the elevator chose to slide its doors open at that very moment.

As they walked down the hall towards 2J, Kendall decided that nabbing the sweater would be the hardest part of his plan. He didn't think Logan would bother changing into his pajamas because being a guy himself, he knew that the only thing guys did after having sex was go to sleep. It was practically science.

That only left him with one option: steal it off of Logan himself while he slept. That, or wait for the off-chance that the brunette would take it off.

In the apartment, once they were in their bedroom, Kendall lay down on his bed and pretended to fall asleep. But he kept his eyes open a sliver, and waited.

The brunette, without even bothering to crawl under the covers, sprawled himself out on his stomach. Kendall began to feel impatient—he knew that if he spent too much time pretending to be asleep, he really would pass out.

Suddenly Logan stood up. He yanked off the sweater, took one look at it and shoved it into Kendall's face.

Kendall jumped into a sitting position; legs flailing and hands snatching at his face. "What the fuck, Logan?" he hissed. He took a swing at the brunette.

Logan caught his wrist. He yawned, smirking. Then he quietly chuckled, let go of Kendall, and flopped back down on his bed. Within seconds, he was asleep.

The blond sat there for a moment, stunned. It was official: Tonight was the last night he was EVER going to let Logan drink.

* * *

The Palmwoods's laundry room was dark and deserted—because really, what morons did laundry at three in the morning?

Kendall sighed. "Me," he muttered under his breath. Grabbing the door to the nearest washing machine and flinging it open, he threw the damned sweater in and slammed the door shut. After dropping in a couple of quarters and taking care of the detergent, he lay back on a narrow wooden bench, anxious to catch a quick nap.

He was nearly asleep when a loud guitar chord rang in his ear. Startled, he fell off of the bench and hit the floor. "Dude!" he yelled.

Guitar Dude peered down at him, laughing. "What's up, what's up, what's uuup!"

Kendall slowly drew himself up, rubbing his sore hipbone. "Dude," he yawned. "It's three in the morning. What are you doing here?"

Guitar Dude shrugged. "Relax, dude," he drawled, "Three's just a number." He put his guitar down on a washing machine and sat down on the bench, rifling through his backpack. He pulled out a six-pack and yanked off two of the cans, handing one to the blond.

Kendall quickly welcomed it, guzzling at least half of it in one gulp. Sighing, he sat down besides the druggie. This was becoming quite the night. "Thanks," he muttered.

After sitting in silence for about ten minutes, Guitar Dude commented: "You left the party early."

Kendall took down the last swig. "Yeah. I had to help my sister with something," he lied. He crushed his empty can and tossed it on the floor.

Guitar Dude pushed the remaining cans towards him. "Help yourself."

So Kendall did. He didn't know why he drank—just that he did. Maybe it was because his father did—at least when the blond knew him. He had left one night when Kendall was seven, and Katie was a mere one year-old; but not before hitting Mrs. Knight and tearing out the door, ignoring his son's sobs of "Daddy, daddy, daddy!" at the doorstep.

Kendall hated him.

But the sudden memory of his father quickly blurred away with the alcohol, reducing the blond down to a fit of giggles.

"What?" Guitar Dude questioned, but he quickly joined in with his own erratic laughter.

"Man, my life is so fucked up," Kendall laughed in between gulps. "You won't believe some of my shit."

Guitar Dude snorted. "Try me," he slurred.

"Like tonight, for instance." Kendall stood up and stumbled over to the occupied washing machine. "Wanna know what I'm washing? Logan's fucking sweater with my fucking jizz all over it." He climbed onto the machine and stood up, wavering; can in hand. "Why? 'Cause I let him fuck me, that's fucking why." He howled with laughter.

Guitar Dude seemed unfazed. "So?" he hiccuped.

Kendall stopped laughing and stared down at him incredulously. "It's fucking _Logan_," he spat. But his sudden mood change quickly spun back into one of liquor-induced giggles. "_Fucking Logan_," he howled, shaking so hard he dropped his can.

Squinting at the floor, he giggled, "Oh no, where did you go?" Then he lost his balance and tumbled onto the scuffed linoleum, successfully knocking himself out for the third time that night.


	10. Dammit, Dammit, Dammit

**Hey everybody!**

**I'm so very, very sorry for the late update-but you know how Christmas is :)**

**Third Kogan chapter in a row-totally just noticed that-but a Jarlos chapter really wouldn't have been appropriate quite yet :D**

**Anyways, enjoy! And review :D They make my day :P**

**Did I ever mention this was an angsty story?**

* * *

It was seven in the morning when the land-line rang.

Logan groaned and slammed his hands against his ears, trying to shut out the infernal noise. Oh God, his head was pounding—and the phone continued to ring, ring, and ring. "Someone shut that thing up," he whined quietly, burying his head underneath his pillow.

The phone gave two more stubborn rings and was suddenly cut off in the middle of the third one. "Finally," the brunette sighed into the mattress.

The silence was short-lived.

"HE WHAT?" Mrs. Knight's scream echoed throughout the entire apartment.

Logan flipped onto his back and sat up. He cradled his head in his hands, resisting the urge to scream. God, why did his head hurt so much? _Okay, rewind_. There was a party in 3C, and he ended up playing beer-pong with several other guys. _Oh_. That explained the headache and general feeling of feeling like crap—but what else did he do? ...Well, Kendall was there, sitting on the couch, alone, and then he left and the next thing Logan remembered was—

Oh my God.

"Thanks for calling me, Charlotte," he heard Mrs. Knight say in the living room. "I'm heading down there right now."

Logan dropped back onto the bed. No, no, _no_. There was just no way! His breathing began to shorten, but he didn't notice.

Maybe it was all just a dream.

He sucked in a raspy breath, feeling a sudden blush burn across his cheeks. That was quite possibly even _worse_—sure, Kendall had a knack for popping up in his dreams quite frequently, but NEVER like _that_.

Anyways, maybe it hadn't been a dream. And for a moment Logan breathed in a sigh of relief; but then—

"That means it really happened!" he squeaked.

He looked over to Kendall's bed, but the blond wasn't there. Where could he be? The last thing Logan remembered was shoving his sweater into Kendall's face—a strange mixture of amusement and the overpowering desire to completely demean him coursing through his drunk blood; smirking at the way the blond struggled against a face-full of his own dry cum.

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, becoming more and more terrified, embarrassed, and _disgusted_ with himself by the second. No, no, no—it just _couldn't_ be true. It just couldn't! One time had been _enough_—he had promised himself it would never happen _again_!

His eyes suddenly snapped open. "The sweater!" he hissed to himself. If the cum-stain was on it, it had really happened. If it was clean, then _at least_ Logan would know that it had all been a nightmare.

Leaping out of bed, he began his wild search: shoving his sheets onto the floor and upturning the hamper in the corner. But the sweater was nowhere to be found. The brunette didn't know what to think: had it been a DREAM OR NOT? He dropped down onto Kendall's empty bed, wincing at his now even stronger headache.

_Forget the damned sweater_, his mind hissed. _Find some aspirin._

Desperately pushing everything from his mind, he cracked open the door and stumbled out towards the kitchen. Reaching it, he hastily began to throw open all the cabinet doors, the pain muffling his thoughts as to where he couldn't remember where Mrs. Knight kept the aspirin—which was in the bathroom cabinet.

"Where is it?" Logan whined to himself after opening a cabinet full of colorful plastic tumblers, nearly crying out in exasperation. God, his head was fucking _killing him_.

The front door suddenly opened, and on instinct, Logan dropped down onto his hands and knees, hiding himself behind the counter. Swallowing back a pain-induced sob, he crawled along the side and peered around the edge.

A red-faced Mrs. Knight pulled her son into the apartment. The blond immediately stumbled over to the living area and dropped face down onto the couch.

The moment the front door clicked shut, Mrs. Knight began to yell.

"Kendall Knight, do you think I like being called at seven in the morning just to be told that you're lying in the laundry room, hungover? You're a—look at me!"

Kendall slowly sat up, but the blond kept his gaze pinned to the floor.

"What has gotten into you lately? Sneaking out, drinking, when I specifically told you—"

"Mom!" Kendall suddenly wailed. "Not so loud!" He grasped his head with both hands, grimacing.

_Yes, please_, Logan silently begged.

Mrs. Knight threw her hands up in the air. "That's your own fault." She began to walk away, but quickly turned back and shook a finger at her son. "And you're grounded."

"I'm already grounded," Kendall snapped.

"Watch your tone, young man. And while your friends will be able to go out as of next week, you'll be staying in for the next two months."

The blond stared up at her. "Mom!"

"Man, what did he DO?" a voice whispered.

Logan jumped, nearly peeing himself. He turned to find James on the floor beside him; his hair wrapped in a towel. "Dude, you scared me," the brunette hissed a little more vehemently than usual.

James grinned. "I can see that." He then directed his gaze over towards Mrs. Knight and Kendall, who were still arguing. "So, what did he do?"

"Someone called and told her that Kendall was in the laundry room, hungover," Logan whispered back.

James sucked in a quick breath, wincing. "Oh man."

Logan nodded, turning his attention back to the loud argument.

"THREE MONTHS!"

"Mom, no! You already—"

"Keep it up and I'll make it four!"

Kendall shut his mouth and tumbled onto his side, burying his face into the couch again.

Mrs. Knight turned on her heel, barking: "Katie! Are you ready yet? We have to be in Venice by ten!"

James shot up off the floor. "Venice?"

Mrs. Knight gave him a weary smile, seemingly unconcerned as to whether or not he had witnessed her loud attempt at discipline. "Yes, I have a job interview."

The pretty boy wrung his hands for a moment, and from his spot on the floor, Logan could see him put on his best "I'm-so-freakin'-pretty-how-can-you-ever-deny-me-anything" face and despite his headache, the brunette rolled his eyes.

James slowly walked towards the single mother. "I know I'm still grounded, but..." The pretty boy's eyes flickered down towards the floor for a moment, then flitted back up. "Can I come with you? Please?"

Mrs. Knight was silent for a long time. "Well..." She looked at her son, who was still strewn on the couch. "Alright." She returned her attention to a now-smiling James. "You know what, James?" she said thoughtfully, "You're not grounded anymore. And neither are you, Logan." She smiled down at the crouching brunette.

Logan slowly drew himself onto his feet, blushing. "Thanks, Mrs. Knight."

"What about me?" Carlos yawned from the hallway.

"Nope. Not grounded."

The Latino grinned and proceeded to happy-dance, shaking his pajama-covered body until Katie showed up behind him and told him he was a freak.

"Thank you," Carlos asserted proudly.

Katie raised her eyebrows. "Whatever. Hey Mom, are we leaving yet?"

"No!" James answered. He ran for the bathroom, and a moment later Logan grimaced at the loud hum of the hair dryer. "I'm not ready yet!" the pretty boy yelled.

"Ten minutes!" Mrs. Knight called, rifling through her purse on the counter.

Carlos leaped into place beside her. "Where are you guys going?" he asked eagerly.

"Venice," Katie answered, strolling into the living area. She stopped when she caught sight of her slumped brother. "Hey, what happened to Kendall?"

Mrs. Knight put a manila folder into her bag. "What will happen to you if you don't listen to Mommy," she declared sternly.

"Venice?" Carlos shouted, seemingly unaware of the hungover blond. "Can I go too?"

Logan reached up and clutched his head, wincing when a painful squeak escaped his throat.

Mrs. Knight gave Carlos a hurried yes and then turned her attention upon the grimacing brunette. "Logan, honey—are you alright?"

Logan dropped his hand back to his side. His eyes widened. "Um, yeah—just a little cold, t-that's all." Forcing a smile, he attempted to walk nonchalantly back to his room, but as soon as he was out of her sight, he reached up to cradle his throbbing head once more and ran for his bed.

Burying his head under his pillow again, Logan squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Oh man, he had to find some aspirin soon; but where was that stupid bottle?

And where was that fucking sweater?

He groaned. Dammit, dammit, dammit. "Was it a fucking dream or not?" he spat into the mattress. It wasn't as if he could just get up and ask Kendall about it—

That was it.

Logan momentarily forgot about his headache and lifted the pillow from his head, taking in a loud gasp of fresh air. No, he wouldn't ask—at least not directly—but as soon as the blond awoke, Logan planned to follow his cues: if something had happened, Kendall would be sure to mention _something_. Or at least snap at him for shoving his own cum in his face.

And if nothing had, the brunette was determined to do whatever it took to make sure that his best friend _never_ showed up in another single one of his dreams again.


	11. Where the Map Turns to Blue

**OHMYGOSH. I AM SO INCREDIBLY SORRY!**

**Seriously, I feel HORRENDOUS for making you all wait so long. It's been like three weeks, I know. :( But the holidays completely drained me, and then I was upstate in San Francisco for a while, and when I came back, I had to return to my internship at my local newspaper. And then I had to songwrite. But good news-part of Chapter 12 has already been written, so I promise I won't take an obnoxiously long time again!**

**A GIANT hug of thanks to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorited! You guys are SO sweet. :) And I know I've said that multiple times before, but it's true! And a very special thank you to Fiyero3305, who left me a very, very nice review. :D**

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* * *

"Shawty's like a melody in my head that I can't keep out got me singin' like—"

James groaned. On any other day, listening to Carlos sing gave him butterflies(cliche, he knew, but too true)—but today, sitting in the backseat of Mrs. Knight's rental car, the pretty boy was just about ready to duct tape the loud Latino's mouth shut.

Then Katie joined in from the passenger seat with: "—na na na na everyday, it's like my iPod stuck on replay, replay."

James slammed his fist into his seat. "Aw, come on! Not you too."

Katie craned her neck around to the back of the car and gave him an incredulous look. "It's a good song!" she protested.

The pretty boy snorted. "No, it's not," he scoffed.

It wasn't that he didn't like Iyaz—he just didn't like watching Carlos squirm around in his seat, belting out a song about _a girl_.

Besides that, he hadn't really wanted Carlos to come. He was on a mission to find his stars—and Venice, sadly, was really the only lead he had as to where to find them. But by the time James had ran to join Mrs. Knight and Katie in the car, Carlos was already squirming to click his seat belt. His cuteness was overwhelming; a slap in the face—especially after what James had nearly done to him the night before.

He sighed, trying to focus on drowning Carlos and Katie out.

But to make matters even worse, the Latino chose that moment to lean over and throw his arm around the pretty boy's shoulders, singing "Who would have ever knew, that we would ever be more than friends" in his face.

How fucking ironic.

Feeling his tension-levels suddenly peak, James roughly shoved him against the opposing car door. "Dammit, Carlos!" he snapped. "You're so annoying."

"James!" Mrs. Knight barked. "Language!"

"Sorry," the pretty boy mumbled. He sulked further into his seat.

Well. He was definitely in a foul mood today, especially after the seemingly endless night he had just spent. He had stood at that window for hours, staring at those same three pin-pricks in the darkness until his legs had given out; and even then, he had sat on his bed, sleepless, until the sun had peeked out over the eastern horizon.

But his emotional turmoil wasn't an excuse to push Carlos so hard—_especially_ after, well, James decided he wasn't going to think about that. He guiltily sneaked a peek over at his best friend.

Naturally, Carlos looked upset. He had stopped singing, and was now staring forlornly into his lap. James felt his stomach tighten. Now he felt like a complete and utter asshole.

"Hey," he whispered.

Carlos ignored him.

James felt his lower lip quiver. He reached over and poked the silent Latino's shoulder. "Carlos?"

"What?" Carlos seethed, meeting the pretty boy's gaze with his own dark one. "I thought you said I was annoying."

"No-No!" James stammered out. "I mean, yes, but—"

"Well, there you go," Carlos snapped. He reached up, clicked the straps on his helmet shut, and turned to stare out the window.

James pulled back and stared out of his own window, defeated.

* * *

Venice Beach was known for three things: the flea market-type atmosphere, the large gatherings of stoners and hippies, and the immediacy of the Pacific Ocean.

"Alright boys, Katie, you have approximately an hour," Mrs. Knight said as she gathered up her things and ushered them out of the car. She skeptically looked around at the endless supply of shoppers, skateboarders and loud, eccentric teenagers that strolled by and made a face. "Try not to stray too far."

Katie rolled her eyes, at which the single mother gave her a stern look. "Katie, I mean it—stay with the boys."

"Fine," the ten year-old sighed.

After watching Mrs. Knight disappear into a nautical-themed seafood restaurant, Katie turned to look up at James. "So, what are we doing?"

James ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know about you guys, but I have to go look for something." He stole a quick glance over at Carlos, who was standing a few feet away, and immediately felt even crummier: his best friend's hands were in his pockets, and he was still uncharacteristically solemn.

"Carlos," James tried again.

The Latino assimilated into the flow of people and began to walk down the boardwalk adjacent to the small, somewhat disheveled and questionable shops, ignoring him.

"Cold," Katie remarked, "Maybe you shouldn't have yelled at him."

But James didn't hear her. He took off after Carlos, spewing out what seemed to be a hundred hurried apologies to the people he pushed past. "Carlos!" he shouted. "Please!"

Carlos came to an abrupt stop in front of a churro cart and whipped around. "What?" he mouthed viciously; eyes narrowed.

But when James caught up to him, the Latino looked more insecure than pissed off. "Do you really think I'm annoying?" he whispered timidly.

_No, I think you're perfect._

James shook his head vigorously. "No! It's just that—" He stopped, realizing he couldn't continue his sentence.

Carlos furrowed his eyebrows. "It's just that what?"

The pretty boy forced himself to smile. "I'm just tired, that's all. I'm really sorry—I didn't mean it. Friends?"

Carlos turned away for a moment, muttering, "Well." James braced himself for the impending heartache that a sure dose of the silent treatment would bring: a hundred CC's of torture. But when his best friend turned back to him, the corners of his mouth were curled up into a grin, bringing back that warm glow James had always associated with Carlos. "Okay." He gestured toward the vendor behind him. "Wanna eat churros?"

* * *

After having the Spanish dessert for breakfast, locating Katie, and having a really cheesy "BFF" moment in which they bought matching leather bracelets from a sketchy curio stand, the trio wandered into a dark, musty smelling thrift store.

"Check out this skateboard!" Carlos exclaimed, waving a lime green skateboard with charcoal stripes in James's face. "How awesome is this? It has _stripes_."

James chuckled. Carlos loved stripes.

_And kittens and dinosaur chicken and corn-dogs and hockey and—_

"You guys should buy it," Katie suddenly advised. "It's a limited edition Alien Workshop."

James raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know?"

The ten year-old picked up a dusty pair of walkie-talkies. "Remember that kid who locked you in a dog cage and tried to steal your identity?"

"Ryan Payce?"

After getting in all sorts of trouble for locking James up, the kid's parents realized their son had a decent amount of acting talent—enough as to where they were now living at the Palmwood's themselves.

Katie nodded. "He's really into skating."

It was Carlos's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You hang out with that kid?"

The ten year-old suddenly blushed. She looked away and began to fiddle with the dial on one of the talkies. "Like I said, you should buy it."

James caught Carlos's eye and stifled a laugh.

"'Kay," the Latino announced after barely suppressing a giggle, "I'm gonna take it." His eyes suddenly widened. "Maybe it'll help me pick up girls!" he shouted excitedly.

And just like that, the warm glow within James went out.

Averting his eyes to the floor, the pretty boy walked away and pretended to browse through the cluttered aisles. But as soon as he was out of Carlos's sight, he let his smile fade away. Tears began to blur his vision, but he quickly tried to blink them away—no, he would NOT cry. Not here.

But it was becoming increasingly harder to keep his feelings for his best friend under control.

He tilted his face toward the ceiling, hoping the tears would sink back into his head. _Come on, James—don't do it._

"You look lost," a voice drawled.

The pretty boy jumped, startled. He brought his gaze back down to find a typical, casually dressed Venice regular with dreads looking at him. He looked to be at least seventeen, if not eighteen. James hastily wiped his hands across his cheeks. "I-I'm not lost," he snapped. "This is Venice, I know."

The stranger smiled: a pity-filled gesture. "I'm not talking about that kind of lost."

James's eyes flickered down to the floor. He was silent.

The boy went on. "You're looking for stars, aren't you?"

James's head snapped up. "How do you know that?" he demanded quietly.

The stranger chuckled. "It's very obvious. You're _lost_."

James wondered if this was how a once-uptight, tuxedo-strangled cello player had found his "inner stars": by being approached by a clever, smooth-talking Venice drifter with a penchant for depicting feelings. Eerily accurate feelings.

But if it had worked for Guitar Dude, maybe it would work for him.

"So what do I do?" he asked tentatively.

The stranger waved a hand toward the back of the store. "Follow me."

Despite his misgivings, the pretty boy followed him up the creaky wooden stairs and into a dimly lit, smoke-filled apartment. Two guys lay tangled up in each other across a sunken couch, smoking weed; a third crushing a cube of cocaine on the floor.

The one attending to the powdery drug acknowledged James's presence first. He eyed the pretty boy for a moment, then directed his gaze towards his dreads-sporting friend. "Lost soul?" he asked casually—maybe even _too_ casually.

There was something in his tone of voice that made James feel uncomfortable.

The stranger who James had followed nodded. He nudged James's elbow. "Go ahead; take a seat. David, you know what to do." After watching the pretty boy sit down on the floor beside the growing mound of white powder, the dreads-sporting boy disappeared back down the narrow staircase.

David studied James for a long minute before returning his attention to the powder on the floor. He reached into his pocket and pulled a small item out. "Here." He handed him a rusty razor-blade.

James shook his head—but not because he was afraid to snort up a couple of lines. They had all done their share of experimenting with strange substances, except for Logan, who only drank (Actually, now that James thought of it, there _was_ that one incident with the bongos—but the bookworm absolutely REFUSED to answer any questions about that)—but today, the pretty boy just didn't want to. Besides, he couldn't go back to Mrs. Knight all giggly and fucked up—it was already a miracle that she hadn't noticed he was high when he had lied to her. He couldn't count on that a second time.

David sighed impatiently. "Look, dude—you wanna relax or not?"

When James didn't answer, David motioned towards the two guys on the couch. "Look at them. _They_ found themselves."

James stared at them for a moment; at the intriguing image they created. They both had blond hair—lighter than Kendall's—and were similar enough to be brothers, even twins—except that one of them had blue eyes and the other brown. The blue-eyed one rested his head in the crook of his mirror-image's arm, and they both just stared at each other, smoking in a blessed silence.

Wrapped up in one another.

James tore his eyes away from the eerie sight. "I'm looking for stars," he mumbled, not caring about how ridiculous he sounded.

He jumped at David's abrupt snort of laughter. "Trust me, dude—you'll definitely be seeing stars after this. And when Henry comes back—you'll be traveling across _galaxies_."

And then he winked.

James suddenly felt sick.

He stood up a little too quickly, and immediately felt dizzy as if he had inhaled those first three-second fumes that came exclusively from a brand-new whipped cream can. He rubbed his temples. "I-I have to go."

David tossed the blade onto the floor. "Fine," he drawled coolly.

So the pretty boy left, and was making his way down the creaky stairs and out to the store front when a bright series of white sparks coming from an open doorway caught his eye.

Looking in, he found a curious sight: Henry, not unlike a blacksmith at all, was bent over a glowing wrought-iron object that strongly resembled a large panini maker.

As if he had felt James's eyes on him, Henry looked up. "Hey, you should be getting settled with David," he said.

James shook his head. "I'm not staying."

Henry grabbed a nearby bucket of water and poured it onto the hot object. He waved away the resulting steam. "And why is that?" he called over the loud sizzle.

"I'm not into that," James muttered to himself. He turned to leave, but his curiosity drew him back. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Grabbing a pair of tongs, Henry raised the lid off of the machine and carefully retrieved a rectangular piece of sheet metal. "License plates," he replied non-nonchalantly, as if he were merely grilling a burger. He looked up and caught the pretty boy's confused gaze. "You know: a car jacker or whoever wants to ensure the greatest success-rate possible—so he gets fake plates." He tossed the unpainted plate onto the table beside the machine. "Why, you need one?"

"James!" the pretty boy heard Carlos suddenly call from somewhere outside, "Where are you? Come over here!"

"I have to go," James mumbled.

He walked away.

* * *

"Okay, hold still—don't move a single muscle."

The Latino had been trying to balance himself on his new skateboard—and was failing miserably at it. He grabbed onto James's left arm and squeezed it. "There!" he shouted eagerly, "I got it!"

Katie snickered, and James caught the Knight look of mischief flit across her eyes. "No, you don't." She kicked the board out from under Carlos's feet.

He tumbled face-first onto the beach. "Katie!" he retorted, kicking up a cloud of sand.

Katie chuckled and proceeded to leap onto the skateboard, sailing away. "I'll meet you guys in front of the car in fifteen minutes!" she called over her shoulder.

James laughed. "I _so_ saw that coming."

Carlos rolled onto his back and peered up at him, squinting in the sunlight. "She totally conned me into buying that board for herself!" he spat angrily, but his frown quickly melted into a mischevious grin. His fingers began to curl into the sand.

"Carlos—NO!"

Carlos threw a handful of sand at him and scrambled away, laughing. "HA-HA!" he screamed over his shoulder.

And suddenly, that _feeling_ was back.

James scooped up a handful of the offensive particles and took off after him, screaming. Laughing. Tripping over his own feet.

And it felt great.

Until Carlos stopped abruptly and spun around; his eyes bright with the golden sight of opportunity, hissing, "Red-head, three o'clock—how _hot_ is she?"

James willed the corners of his mouth to remain plastered into a smile. "She's—"

But before he could share his false opinion, Carlos ran off toward the red-head, calling, "I call her!"

James sat down, not caring if he ruined his clothes. Of course. He wasn't even surprised—this was the way it had always been. And the way it would always be.

So why was he beginning to feel like he couldn't take it anymore?

He thought about Henry and David. Who were they, and where were they headed? And were they _really_ content with the hazy life they led?

He felt stupid. Discouraged. If _that_ was the way Guitar Dude had come to terms with himself, then really—what was left for _him_? Because holing himself up in a half-rotted studio apartment with those guys and having a drug-induced threesome—five-some if he counted the twins—was clearly not the answer.

What the fuck was he even doing here?

Seriously—what had he even been expecting to find? A spontaneous revelation? A tear in the ever-present curtain of smog? Ghandi? Or maybe even the devil himself—revealing the inner-workings of this underworld people so desperately—including James himself—wanted to become a part of?

Maybe there weren't any answers.

At least not _here_.

And as he watched the love of his life try to flirt up a scantily-dressed girl against the backdrop of the largest ocean in the world, he began to take notice of those foreign waves—where a different kind of world lived, where intimate and public moments were sealed, where—

_Where the Map Turns to Blue._

And suddenly James realized where he could find his stars.

* * *

_Kudos to everyone who caught my reference to another fandom._


	12. Worse Than Hollywood Fever

**Hey guys! I hope everyone can forgive me for taking two weeks to update. I've had a lot on my plate lately, and when I stress out, my writing flow is the first thing to go-and I absolutely REFUSED to butcher this chapter. But here I am-with a long, long chapter. I must say though: a whole boatload of stuff happens in this chapter :).**

**As for the other fandom reference in the previous chapter: it was a Suite Life one (The twins).**

**Thank you, everyone, for all of the reviews, story-alerts, and favoriting!**

**Read & Review. :)  
**

* * *

Kendall was dreaming.

Or rather, recollecting.

_He was sitting in a bathtub, splashing._

A pale, dark-haired fifteen month-old sat in the water across from him, trying to gnaw the tail off of a plastic whale.

Kendall splashed him.

The toddler dropped the toy and splashed him right back, prompting both boys to let out a peal of giggles.

"Whoa, boys—that's enough splashing!" a melodic voice laughed.

Kendall immediately recognized the voice as to being the one of Mrs. Mitchell.

He looked up and saw her kneeling by the bathtub, squeezing a drop of Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo into her palm. She caught his wide-eyed gaze. "You know it's your turn, don't you?" she cooed before reaching over and lathering the thick liquid into his hair.

Kendall squirmed, trying to escape her grasp. He didn't like shampoo.

The house phone rang, at which Mrs. Mitchell stopped running her fingers through the blond's hair for a moment. "Natasha!" she called loudly, "Come watch the babies for a moment!"

_Natasha._ That was Logan's then-eight year-old sister. She was nice: she liked to tickle their toes until they squealed themselves to tears. The blond gurgled in anticipation.

A girl in a pink tutu skipped into the bathroom a moment later. She wore a large, crystal-encrusted glitz-pageant crown on her dark, glossy head of hair. The stones shone in the bathroom light, throwing little beams of rainbows all over the white walls, prompting both toddlers to extend their small fingers toward the glittery object, fascinated.

"Want dat," Logan crowed.

Mrs. Mitchell quickly dried her hands on her pants. "Watch them for me while I grab the phone, and be careful—they like to splash." With that, the woman rushed away.

Natasha knelt down and leaned over the edge of the bathtub. "Hi babies!" she sang.

Logan reached up with both hands and pulled the crown off of his sister's head, immediately bringing it to his mouth.

"Logan, no!" Natasha shrieked. She pried the crown away from the eager tot and shook a finger at him. "NO!"

The small child's sweet brown eyes began to flood with tears.

Kendall splashed him again.

Distracted, the brunette seemed to immediately forget about the crown and splashed him right back.

Suddenly another little girl in a pink tutu bounced into the doorway. "'Tasha, come on! My mom's outside!" Her halo of blond curls bobbed with her every word.

Natasha looked into the mirror and re-adjusted the crown back onto her head. "Chrissie! I have to wait for my mom to stop talking on the phone." She pointed toward the bathtub.

Chrissie stepped into the bathroom. "Logan!" she squealed. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of Kendall. "Oh! Who's the other baby?" She knelt down beside the bathtub.

Natasha sat down next to her. "That's Kenny. My mom babysits him a lot. He's her friend's baby. Isn't he cute?"

Chrissie gently poked the blond's tummy, giggling when he squealed. "Yeah. But why does your mom watch him if he has his own mom? Or dad?"

Natasha shrugged. "I dunno. But I heard my mom tell my dad that she doesn't like Kenny's dad. She says he's a bad husband and that he drinks too much beer."

Chrissie continued to tickle the bubbling child. "That's so sad."

Natasha nodded. "Yeah, I know. But at least Logan has someone to play with." Her eyes lit up. "I bet they're gonna be best friends _forever._"

Her friend squealed. "Like us!" she piped.

"Yup!" Natasha reached into the bathtub and tickled her baby brother's cheek. "Logan, can you say 'Kenny'?"

The brunette gurgled at her.

Natasha laughed. "Come on, Logan, say 'Kenny'," she prompted.

Logan splashed his little hands into the bathwater. "Doh!"

Chrissie frowned. "Maybe 'Kenny's too hard. Try 'Ken'."

Natasha took her crown off and put it on the floor beside her. She leaned over into the bathtub. "Logan, can you say 'Ken'?"

Logan stared up at her for a long moment.

"Ken-dahl!" he finally squealed.

The girls clapped their hands loudly and cheered. "Whoa!" Natasha gushed excitedly, "That's the first real name he's ever said! He can't even say mine yet." She scrambled off of the floor and out into the hall. "Mom!" she screamed, "Logan said 'Kendall'!"

"Kendall!" the brunette shouted happily. He turned to look at the blond, his eyes round with endless, innocent adoration. "Kendall, Kendall!" he squealed.

"Kendall!"

"Kendall!"

_"Kendall!"_

_ "Kendall!"_

"KENDALL!"

Kendall opened his eyes to find a helmet-less Carlos practically on top of him. "Kendall! Wake up!" the Latino shouted.

Kendall yawned and rubbed his eyes, still feeling a bit sick. "What?" Man, how long had he been out? Judging by the bright sunshine that was pouring in through the windows, he could accurately deduce that it was about noon.

Carlos leaned down over his face. "Stop sleeping!" he chirped.

The blond furrowed his eyebrows. "Carlos, really..." He looked up into his friend's eyes and suddenly groaned.

Carlos was on something.

Kendall pushed him away and sat up. "Carlos, what did you _do_?" he hissed. "At home—really? You know how much fucking trouble _we're all going to be in_ if my mom sees you like this?"

Carlos climbed onto the couch and started jumping. "Whee! It's like a giant orange marshmallow!" he bubbled. "Come on, Kendall! Jump with me!"

Kendall slammed his palm to his forehead. _James._ James had to be partly responsible for this—someway, somehow. He could have bet a hundred dollars that the pretty boy was on something as well.

The blond stood up and grabbed Carlos's wrist, pulling him onto the floor. "Come on," he grumbled, tugging him along.

"Are we going swimming?" Carlos asked.

Kendall stopped walking for a moment and gave him an incredulous look. "What? No." He pulled him through the hallway and roughly opened the Latino's bedroom door. "James, you have got to be kidding me—"

He stopped.

James was packing.

His suitcase lay open on his bed, and he was solemnly feeding it one article of clothing after another. He didn't even acknowledge the blond's outburst.

Sensing the sudden change in the mood, Kendall quickly pulled Carlos into the room and shut the door. "Where are you going?" he asked.

Silence.

After ten long, awkward seconds, James finally looked up from his project. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he had spent the last hour bawling. "I'm going home, Kendall," he said quietly.

Kendall sighed. _Here we go_. James and his drama—it never seemed to end, did it? The blond let go of Carlos and crossed over to James. He grasped his shoulders and tried to get a good look at his friend's eyes. "What are you on?" he demanded.

The pretty boy glared at him. "I'm not _on_ anything," he snapped angrily. He wrenched himself out of Kendall's grasp and pushed past him, snatching a shirt from the open closet. "Why the fuck would you even ask that?"

Kendall watched him rip a plaid coat from its hanger. "Well, Carlos is on something, so I assumed—"

James spun around and threw both articles of clothing onto the floor. "You assumed I was on something too. What—so now Carlos and I are some sort of 'package' deal?" He looked vulnerable for a moment, as if something in his own words had struck him—but he quickly grew hostile again. "Just fuck off, Kendall," he snarled.

Carlos dawdled over to the pretty boy and tugged his wrist. "Look James," he whispered. He pointed at Kendall and giggled. "Kendall's a blob of spaghetti."

Kendall sighed. "Do you at least know what the fuck he's on?"

The Latino began to laugh uproariously. He let go of James and slid down onto the carpet. "Don't let Mr. Ketchup find you!" He sprawled himself out on his back and continued narrating his hallucination in Spanish. "_¡__Y tiene__ unas cejas ridículas!_"

Whatever that meant.

James grabbed his fallen shirt and threw it into the suitcase. "No."

The blond crossed his arms, unconvinced. "Really, James..."

James shot him another death glare. "Really." He yanked open the top drawer of the oak dresser and began to pull out a rainbow of bandannas. "Why does it even matter anyway?"

Kendall stared at James's back, incredulous. "My mom's home, you idiot!" He jutted a finger toward the troublesome Latino, who at this point, was squirming around on the floor like an earthworm. "Don't you get that if she sees him, we're ALL gonna be in trouble? She'll go through our rooms and I'm running out of places to hide shit!" he half-yelled.

James slammed the drawer shut. "I'm so sick of people thinking I'm an idiot!" he yelled. He whipped around, his grip on his handful of bandannas so tight that Kendall could see his knuckles beginning to turn white. "And it's not my fucking fault you can't figure out where to hide your stupid magazines."

Despite his rising anger level, Kendall blushed. "It's not like you don't have them!" he fired back.

James snorted. "I don't," he snapped.

"That's the biggest lie you've ever said." They all had their magazines—even Logan, who was terrible at hiding them. And now James wanted him to believe he "didn't look" at that stuff? Kendall almost laughed.

James slammed the bandannas down onto the dresser. "It's not a lie—it's the truth! I don't like—" The pretty boy suddenly stopped, casting his gaze to the floor. "I'm going home," he muttered.

The room was silent for a long time after that, with the exception of Carlos's slurred Spanish phrases. During that time, Kendall began to calm down. God, what the fuck had this city done to him? He used to actually listen to his friends; always knowing when something was wrong—but instead here he was: arguing with James who he had known since he was seven and accusing him of all sorts of shit. And now James wanted to go home. Kendall had thought that the pretty boy had gotten over his Hollywood Fever a long time ago, but no, apparently not.

_He_ was one to talk.

Whether he had the guts to admit it to himself or not, he had changed as well. Even if it didn't involve extreme spray tans, silk jackets or bongos.

He took in a deep breath. "Sorry," he said quietly.

James wiped something from his eye. "I'm still going home," he said.

The blond sat on the edge of Carlos's bed. "I thought you wanted to be famous."

James sat down on the floor, reclining against the dresser. "I do," he said earnestly, but in a sad way. He traced a finger across the carpet. "It's just that—" He looked at Carlos for a moment and shook his head. "I just have to go."

"When are you coming back?"

James shrugged, silent.

"But why?" Kendall whispered, persistent. "Why are you going back?"

James looked at him and sighed. "You really wanna know?"

Kendall nodded.

The pretty boy began to toy with the leather bracelet on his wrist. "I don't know who I am anymore." He looked away from the blond and to the window. "I've done a lot of stupid stuff I'm not proud of." He sighed again. "I have to go home."

"You're right," Kendall said suddenly, surprising himself.

James gave him a questioning look. "About what?"

"About going home." The more the blond thought about it, the more it began to make sense—the way almost nothing about California made sense: Gustavo, the people, whether or not pot was illegal, and perhaps the most unnerving of all, why Kendall hadn't fought back when Logan teased him into submission. It was eye opening.

James eyed him strangely, clearly unaccustomed to being right about anything. "So you're saying—"

"We're going home." Kendall stood up, determined. "We have to go back to Minnesota." He looked at James. "Don't let Carlos out of your sight—I'm gonna go get Logan."

* * *

"Hey Logan," Kendall said as he opened the door to their shared bedroom. "We need—"

Logan was asleep.

It was quite endearing, really, seeing him like that: he was lying on his back, blanket-less; his mouth slightly open and his hair a mess. He was still wearing his clothes from the night before, minus the—

Fuck.

The blond let out a quiet groan. The sweater! Shit, shit, shit. It was still in the laundry room! He turned to go downstairs and retrieve it, but quickly stopped. He couldn't leave—his mother was still in the apartment, deeming the whole operation too risky. He sighed. He would have to wait until nighttime.

Besides, all he really had to do was play it cool, and trick Logan into thinking all of the night beforehand was a dream.

He looked at the brunette again and thought of his own dream: his best friend's first squeals of "Kendall, Kendall!" before even being able to pronounce his own sister's name.

_I bet they're gonna be best friends forever._

Kendall smiled. It wasn't just a figment of his hungover, over-schemed imagination. It was his first memory.

And even now, gazing at him, Kendall could still see traces of the eager fifteen month-old in the brunette's face: he still had the same pale skin, the same stubborn dark hair; the same smile, the same sweetness...

Kendall froze.

Whoa.

_That_ was seriously creepy.

Had he really just stood there and—_ugh, never mind._

_That_ he could definitely attribute to alcohol. Hangovers, specifically.

_At least he fervently hoped so._

The blond shook the startling thought away, feeling a bit nauseated. Anyway, he had come in to get Logan, and that's what he planned to do. But as he walked over and reached out to awaken the brunette, he almost didn't want to disrupt him.

Almost.

"Wake up." Kendall shook his shoulder roughly. "We're having a meeting."

Logan's eyes snapped wide open. Upon seeing Kendall, he gave a little scream and threw himself away from the blond, slamming against the headboard. "OHMYGOD it's back!" He started pinching himself.

Kendall raised his eyebrows, amused. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, knowing perfectly well why he was freaked out. "You look like you've had a _nightmare_."

Logan's face flushed scarlet, and for a moment Kendall felt really bad for indirectly lying to him. But when his subconscious brought up a flashback of another recent Saturday morning, the blond decided that this, ironically, was the better route.

The brunette swallowed visibly and brought his gaze down to his lap. He appeared to be extremely uncomfortable. "I—um, yeah. Nightmare." He fiddled with the corner of his pillowcase. "So... what did you do last night?"

Kendall shrugged nonchalantly. "You know, the usual," he lied. "Partied. You?"

Logan looked up. "Yeah... same." He smiled uncertainly.

Kendall was beginning to feel like a complete dick.

"A-Anyway," the blond stammered, trying to push back his conscience. "We're having a meeting in James and Carlos's room, and we need you." He turned and started for the door, anxious to get away from the awkwardness that was being alone with his best friend.

"Wait!"

Kendall stopped and spun around, impatient. "What?"

Logan gave him a suspicious look. "If this is about that whole bongo thing again," he huffed, "I'm not coming."

Despite being uncomfortable, Kendall let out a loud snort. "No, it's not about the bongo thing," he laughed.

Logan's eyebrows furrowed with more suspicion. "I'm not coming!" he retorted.

Kendall smirked. "Yeah, you are." He jumped back to the brunette's bed and made a grab for his ankle, but Logan was quick. He threw himself onto the carpet between their beds, screaming when Kendall tumbled right on top of him.

The blond tried to snatch him so he could pull him back to James's and Carlos's room, but the brunette quickly grabbed a hold of the bedpost. "I'm not going!" he shouted.

Kendall tried to wrestle him down with one arm and pry his fingers off the bedpost with the other. "Yes you are," he muttered through gritted teeth.

Logan squirmed fiercely, gasping when Kendall managed to get one leg over him. "Kendall!"

Kendall began to laugh. He had missed this. They hadn't wrestled or anything after, well—never mind. Since then, Logan had freaked out over every single touch: an accidental bump in the sound booth at the studio, a friendly punch in the arm—all those little things.

Which definitely explained the brunette's heightened grip on the bedpost. "Why are you laughing?" he demanded. "It's not funny!" He sucked in a very shaky breath. "I'm not answering any questions about the bongo thing!"

Kendall began to laugh even harder. Did he really think this was all about the bongo incident?

Remembering what he was supposed to be doing, he once again tried to pull Logan from the bedpost. "Come on, Logie. I promise it's not about that."

Logan struggled to free himself. "Yeah, and you also promised you wouldn't touch my salt oscillators, and look what happened!"

Kendall gave him a very amused look. "We were twelve! I didn't know your dumb salt reciprocals would break!"

"'Oscillators'!"

"It matters!" Kendall laughed, sarcastic.

Logan stopped squirming. He stared up at him, appearing to be defeated. "Come on, Kendall," he whined. "Let me go."

Kendall shook his head. "Nope. Not until you say you're coming to James and Carlos's room with me."

Logan let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm not going!" he insisted.

"Really." Suddenly Kendall hatched an idea. It involved breaking a rule of wrestling they had established long before—but then again, this wasn't just any ordinary match.

Using both his legs to press the brunette harder against the floor, Kendall quickly let go of both of Logan's wrists and reached down, tickling his sides.

With a loud squeak, Logan let go of the bedpost. "Kendall!" he protested. "That's a f-foul!" he screeched in-between his loud bursts of laughter. "S-Stop!"

Kendall began to laugh again as well. "You sound like a fucking hyena," he howled, tickling him harder. "Or else a very excited piglet."

Logan shuddered beneath him, gasping, "A fucking piglet? I'd rather—stop it, Kendall!"

The blond tickled him even harder. "Never!"

"Kendall! Come on! I'm still hungover! Do you want me to p-puke on you?"

Normally, Kendall would have immediately backed off at the threat of regurgitated liquor and who-knows-what-else, but today, somehow, he didn't really care.

"Go ahead!" he challenged.

But the brunette didn't puke. Instead, he just kept laughing and laughing, and Kendall found the way Logan's pale cheeks quickly turned fire-engine-red extremely amusing. He stopped tickling him for a moment. "Are you coming to James and Carlos's room or not?"

Logan gasped, trying to regain his breath. "No."

Kendall grinned. "Fine." He started tickle-attacking him again, waiting for the perfect moment he could—

He snatched the brunette up with both arms and ran for the door.

"No!" Logan protested, "Let me go!" But Kendall knew he was weak from being tickled so mercilessly.

Darting into the hall and bursting into the next bedroom, Kendall slammed the door behind them and sank to the ground laughing, accidentally dropping Logan with a loud thump.

James gave them a very wide-eyed look. "What the hell?"

"_¡Cejas!_" Carlos crowed from the top of the dresser.

Logan shot Kendall a death glare from the floor. He sat up and rubbed his sides. "Abuse, that's what happened," he muttered, wincing.

Kendall gave a last laugh and stood up. "Anyways, we're having a meeting."

Logan made a "harrumph" sound. "I'm not talking about the bongo thing, so you all might as well forget about it."

James looked confused. "What? This isn't even about that."

"Oh." The brunette seemed to relax. "Then what?"

"We're going home," Kendall announced.

Logan's eyes widened. "What?" he hissed. "Why? I thought Griffin wasn't allowed to drop us from the label!"

Kendall shook his head. "No, nothing like that happened."

Logan gave him a very questioning look. "Then what?"

Kendall shrugged. "We're just going home. That's it."

"To visit?"

"Um, sort of."

"A concert?"

"No... No one except us will know—until you know, we leave."

The brunette narrowed his eyes. "So what you're saying is that we're running away?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

Logan's mouth dropped open. "Are you insane?" he yelled. He stood up, shaking his head vigorously. "No!" He started for the door, but Kendall blocked him and locked the door. "Why would we even do that?" the brunette hissed. "Why would _you_ even do that? What about Jo?"

Kendall was silent for a long moment. Man, he had completely forgotten about her. That was bad, wasn't it?

"She'll live," he said suddenly, surprising himself once again.

James's and Logan's brows creased in confusion but before any of them could ask a question, Carlos let out a piercing shriek.

Logan clapped his hands over his ears. "What's wrong with him?"

Kendall rolled his eyes. "He's on something."

As if to prove the blond's point, the Latino fell from his perch on the dresser and onto the floor.

"NO!" he screamed, backing up against the wall staring at something only he could see. "Don't!"

James began to look terrified. "What's happening?"

"No!" Carlos shrieked. He burst into tears. "_No!_"

Kendall pushed past Logan and ran towards the Latino. "What's wrong with him? He was fine a second ago!"

"What did he take?" Logan shouted over Carlos's screams.

"We don't know!" James tried to grab a hold of Carlos's arm. "Carlos!"

Logan leaped into the flying mess of limbs, trying to hold Carlos still. "Kendall," he barked, "Give me the helmet by the closet. And hurry!"

Kendall snatched the hockey helmet and shoved it into Logan's hands. "How is that going to help?"

Logan forced the helmet onto the thrashing Latino's head. "We don't know what he took—so if he hits his head and passes out—" The color drained from his face. "That could be really dangerous. Help me get him to stop moving!"

James threw his arm around Carlos's waist and pulled him into himself, prompting him to sob and thrash harder. "Kendall!" the pretty boy screamed, falling onto his back, "Help me!"

Kendall grabbed Carlos's wrists and pinned them down to the carpet as best as he could. "What the fuck did you do?" he screamed in exasperation.

Logan wrenched himself between the blond and the fighting Latino. He grabbed one of Carlos's arms and tried to get a good look at it. "I know what he's on," he hissed.

"What?" James screeched from beneath Carlos.

Logan untangled himself from them and slumped against the wall. "LSD. Puncture on his left arm."

Kendall struggled to keep Carlos as still as possible. "I thought that stuff was supposed to make you happy! Why the fuck is he screaming then?"

Logan punched the floor, clearly frustrated. "Because the hallucinations could go either way: they'll either be good, or you could end up with a really bad trip."

"Then how the fuck do we stop it?" James wailed.

"You can't—"

They suddenly froze.

"Boys!" Mrs. Knight's voice came from the other side of the bedroom door. "What is going on in there? You've been screaming for the last ten minutes!"

Kendall clapped a hand over Carlos's mouth and wracked his mind for an excuse. "Uh, we're fine, Mom," he called, "Logan's—uh—trying to teach us math!"

Logan shot him a look. "What?" he mouthed.

Kendall squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, praying his mother would buy his less-than-perfect lie.

"Alright then... I'm going to go read a book now..."

Kendall inhaled deeply and opened his eyes, relieved. He pressed his palm harder against Carlos's mouth. "Shit!" he spat under his breath. "Logan, how do we get him to stop seeing shit?" he demanded.

Logan grimaced. "You can't. The only thing we can do is wait it out."

Kendall groaned.

He fought against Carlos's thrashing alongside James for what seemed to be an eternity until the Latino finally stopped screaming against his palm and began to cry quietly.

Kendall let go of Carlos and stood up, leaving James to sit up and hug his distressed friend to himself. The blond walked over to the dresser and yanked open the bottom drawers, ripping through Carlos's stuff until he found what he was looking for.

He snatched out a couple of long needles, three packets of suspicious looking white powder, and a handful of rainbow-colored tablets. He threw them into the wastebasket. "He's fucking done," he growled.

He addressed his very disheveled-looking friends. "See?" he hissed. "See that? That's why we're going fucking home."

Logan began to protest. "But I don't do—"

Kendall threw him a violent glare, successfully shutting him up. "No, but you fucking drink. And before we ever came out here, that shit used to never happen." And after the last three weeks, Kendall wasn't sure if he wanted—_ugh, never mind_. He kicked Carlos's drawers shut.

"But—" The brunette suddenly paled even more than he already was. "O-Oh man." He reached across the floor, snatched the wastebasket and hurled into it.

Kendall grimaced. _What the fuck had this city done to them?_ And as he watched Carlos sob silently into James's shoulder and Logan puke his guts out, he realized that one of his worst fears had in fact, come true. They all had the wretched epidemic—and it was worse than Hollywood Fever. And Kendall hated himself for that—because he too, had caught it.

* * *

**Do you SEE it? :)**

**I also put in another reference to another show-did anyone catch it?**

**One more thing: Please don't kill me if I don't update this week! The next chapter is long as well: it's split between Carlos and Logan**.


	13. Lookin' For a Hallelujah

**OHMYGOD. WHERE. HAS. THE. TIME. GONE. Gosh guys, I am SO sorry for practically dropping off the face of the earth for ****over a month! I've just been so incredibly busy!**

**So to be one-hundred percent honest with you, this chapter has been done for quite a while-I've just been really ****indecisive about it. But I'm TIRED of looking at the same block of text, so it's finally up. :)**

**Note: This chapter was supposed to be split, but as the first portion grew longer and longer, I decided to push back ****the second half into the next chapter. There are A LOT of details in this part that I wanted to make sure didn't get ****lost.**

**To the person I told I was going to post around two weeks ago: I'M SOOOO SORRY! :(**

**Anyway, read & review! Thank you. :D**

**And find references. :) I forgot how many made their way in here, but whatever, lol.**

**And again, sorry. And sorry for the ridiculous amount of grammatical mistakes in the last chapter-I should probably go fix those now...**

* * *

He could hear them arguing in the near distance, and strangely enough, their child-like squabbling was enough to soothe him—although it was the reason he had awoken in the first place.

"No. That is the WORST idea ever! No, no, NO!"

"No, it's the best one any of us have had in months—right James?"

"Uh-huh."

"You guys are fucking insane—you know how much TROUBLE we would get in?"

Carlos slowly began to regain consciousness, finding himself tightly tucked into bed. He could hear his friends arguing about some plan or something, and as usual, Logan was rallying against it.

"A lot," the Latino heard Kendall assert, "But it's worth it."

Carlos squirmed against the bed sheets, freeing himself from the tight swaddle. He felt waterlogged; groggy—he didn't even know how he had managed to get into bed in the first place. He shakily propped himself up against his hands and looked over to his best friends, who were all sitting on the carpet by the opposite wall.

"Guys?" he whined quietly.

They didn't seem to hear him. "How in the world is it worth it?" Logan hissed. "Besides, we don't even have a car anymore. Your mom still won't give us the keys. So there." He crossed his arms rather triumphantly.

Kendall rolled his eyes. "So? We'll get them back."

Logan began to whine, but Carlos could already tell the brunette was beginning to lose his ground. "This is still the worst idea ever…" He sighed. "Okay, suppose we do get the car back. What if we do take off in it and the cops track the license plate number? Then what? We get in a whole shitload of trouble and that's the end of us."

James's face lit up. "I know where we can get fake plates," he piped.

Logan made a face. "Still…" His voice trailed off. He looked at the floor, and Carlos began counting down quietly, muttering, "In five… four… three… two…"

He watched Kendall gently press his fist against the skeptical brunette's shoulder. "Don't you wanna go home, Logie?" he said softly.

_And pop goes the wease__l._

"Fine," Logan muttered, squeaking when Kendall tried to hug him. "But I don't like this."

Carlos let out a loud yawn and sat up fully, figuring that it was about time he was told what sort of grand scheme he was obviously going to be involved in. "What's going on?"

"Carlos!" James scrambled off the floor and tackled him back into his pillow. "You're awake!"

The Latino tried to wriggle himself free, but the pretty boy had him squeezed into one of of his tight "James" hugs. "James," Carlos gasped, "You're squishing me."

James quickly let go and rolled onto the bed beside him, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry."

Carlos sat up again, wincing at the slight plume of dizziness that shot through his forehead. He watched Logan try to fight off Kendall's attempts to hug him and yawned again. "So, what are we doing?"

Kendall let go of the struggling brunette and stood up. "We're going home," he announced, rolling his eyes when Logan let out a loud sigh.

Carlos's eyes widened. "Did we get fired?"

"We will be after this one," Logan muttered, earning himself a small kick from the blond. "No," Kendall continued, "We're just going home."

"But you can't tell anyone," James added.

The Latino furrowed his eyebrows. "But isn't that 'running away'?"

"Thank you!" Logan exploded.

Kendall rolled his eyes again and walked over, settling himself beside James. "We have to do it. Besides, it's not for forever. We'll come back... eventually."

Carlos slowly drew the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes. "But I like it here," he said softly.

He felt James stir when Kendall leaned over and gently grasped his shoulder. "I know." He was quiet for a long moment. "But we have to—James has to, Logan has to, I have to, and you have to too."

Carlos slowly shook his head. "I don't want to." He liked Hollywood—at least to a certain degree. He liked the parties. He liked the warm weather. He liked the Jennifers—even though they verbally slapped him in the face every time he came around. He liked the funny stories Guitar Dude told him. He liked watching Camille slap people and scream half of the lobby down. He liked messing with the Teen CSIs's "investigations," and running away when they figured out it was him who spilled Sprite all over their "crime scene." No, he didn't want to go home just yet.

He clutched the blanket tighter when he felt Kendall shake his shoulder. "Come on, Carlos!" the blond insisted. "It'd be good for you."

The Latino tugged the blanket over his head. "No," he pouted, very much like a child.

Kendall pulled the blanket off. "Yes. Come on, you have to."

Carlos opened his eyes and glared at the blond. "Why?" He suddenly winced and clutched his left temple. "Owww," he whined.

Kendall sighed. "Okay—you wanna know why your head hurts?" he snapped. "'Cause you were on fucking LSD, that's fucking why!" he yelled, prompting Carlos to pull the blanket over his head again.

The blond tore the blanket away again. "That's why _you're_ going home—'cause you don't know how to fucking control yourself." He grabbed Carlos's shoulders and shook him hard.

The Latino felt James stiffen beside him. Ignoring it, he stared up into Kendall's furious green eyes and before he could realize it, he had begun to cry again. "I thought you liked doing this stuff!" he protested.

Kendall shot him an exasperated look. "What?" he hissed incredulously. "Acid? What the fuck does that even _have to do_ with anything?" he shouted. He started to shake him again, causing the Latino to break out into a loud sob.

Suddenly James twisted around him and threw himself onto Kendall, shoving him hard off of the bed and onto the floor. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" Carlos heard the pretty boy snarl from the carpet.

Throwing himself beneath his blankets again, he flipped himself onto his stomach, shoved his face into his pillow and cried. God, why couldn't he ever do anything right? He didn't even know what _was_ right half of the time—sometimes it was okay to have fun, and sometimes it wasn't, apparently. Fuck, all he wanted to do was fucking _please_ his friends—and now Kendall was mad, mad, mad. _How the hell was he supposed to know_ what was okay and what wasn't when his best friends' own moral compasses were so misaligned and difficult to read?

He could hear Logan trying to calm James and Kendall down. "You guys need to fucking stop—especially _you_, Kendall," the brunette growled. "You know it's impossible to reason with Carlos after he's been on something—James, don't even fucking think about—JAMES!" A snarling, obscene scuffle erupted, and suddenly Carlos heard it come to an abrupt stop with two loud slaps. "Owww!" James and Kendall protested in unison.

"I can't believe you fucking slapped me!" James snapped.

"Yeah Logan," the blond hissed, "What are you now—Camille?"

Despite being very upset and more importantly, _exhausted_, Carlos laughed. He rolled onto his back and wiped his cheeks.

"Shut up and deal with it," he heard Logan say. "You guys weren't going to stop trying to kill each other unless I smacked you."

"Well I wouldn't have tried to protect my best friend unless _someone_ was being a total asshole to him when he can't think straight."

Kendall let out a long sigh. "You're right... he's probably just over-tired and needs to go back to sleep..."

James snorted. "He's not four, Kendall."

"No, but when have any of us ever functioned correctly after being wasted?" Logan whispered. "Remember Death Smash's kick-off party? Kendall woke up the next morning, puked all over the—"

"OKAY!" Kendall said quickly, "You said we'd _never_ talk about that again!"

Carlos began to laugh quietly again. It had been absolutely _disgusting_—the blond had thrown up all over the house's back porch and had then decided to make "snow angels" in it. And as if that hadn't been unreasonable and disturbing enough, when they had gone to pull him out of it and hose him off, Kendall had become INCONSOLABLE. He had sobbed uncontrollably over snow and something called "the belly-button game" for at least twenty minutes until the warm sun had put him to sleep.

James made a retching noise and Carlos felt him shudder against the bed. "Seriously... ugh. Disgusting."

"Anyways," Logan continued, "He has to go back to sleep or else he'll be all out of sorts all day."

"'All out of sorts,'" Kendall snickered. "Who says that?"

Carlos heard Logan let out a long sigh. "Maybe YOU should go back to bed too," the brunette snapped.

They were silent for a long time after that, and consequently, Carlos began to drift off. He was almost asleep when he heard James whisper, "What do you think he was seeing?"

"What do you mean?" Kendall asked.

"Well, he was fine and then he was freaking out. What was so scary?"

There was a long pause.

"His worst fear," Logan said slowly. "He was experiencing his worst fear."

How in the world would _Logan_ know that?

They were quiet for another long moment. Presently Kendall spoke up, wondering: "But what is it?"

His worst fear. Yeah, Carlos was afraid of a lot of stuff: Gustavo, lemons with three seeds in them, the "_llorona_", his father's leather belt and his grandmother on tamale day—but his worst fear? In all honesty, he _himself_ didn't even know.

Maybe getting yelled at by his friends? He closed his eyes sadly for a moment—he was still very much upset about that.

"Well," James started, "One time he told me a scary story about a naked lady with messy long hair that scares people who wash their clothes in the river at night. And she's supposedly a ghost that's always crying about her drowned children. And then I laughed and he got all mad and started screaming 'It's true! My _madrina_ saw her!'"

Logan bust out laughing. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

Carlos opened his eyes, narrowing them. _It is SO true!_

Kendall snorted. "What's a '_madrina_' anyway? Is it a mermaid?"

Carlos stifled a giggle.

"It means 'god-mother,'" Logan said.

"His god-mother's a mermaid?" James asked, the astonishment in his voice ringing out.

Carlos burst out laughing.

Logan sighed. "No, James, she's not." Suddenly the covers were pulled off of the Latino, and he found himself looking up at Logan. "I thought you were asleep!" the brunette said.

Carlos laughed. "No. I don't feel like sleeping." He sat up and looked at his friends, growing very serious.

Kendall gave him a sad look. "Carlos," he started quietly.

Carlos looked away for a moment. A small part of him wanted to be mad at him, but his nature—his nature wouldn't let him. _Besides, being mad at your friends only pushes them away, right?_ He looked back at the blond and gave him a small smile.

It seemed to be the only invitation Kendall needed. He leaped up and tackled him into a hug, and before Carlos could gasp out a "you're squishing me," James was suddenly in the mix, and a moment later, so was Logan.

After disentangling themselves from each other, Logan gave James and Kendall a "you-better-do-what-I-tell-you-or-else" look.

"Well," James began. He stood up, drew the window blinds and inched toward the door, "I'm gonna go brush my hair."

Kendall followed after him, saying, "I'm gonna go, uh, eat a bagel."

"And I'm going to go decipher the, uh, Voynich Manuscript," Logan finished, backing up slowly.

Carlos furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "Wait, why is everyone leaving?"

"Because," Kendall said slowly, pushing James out the door, "you have to..."

Logan quickly shoved the blond out and grabbed the doorknob. "Sleep!" he finished, dashing out into the hall and slamming the door shut.

Carlos's eyes grew wide in realization. "I don't want to go to sleep!" he screamed furiously. He kicked off the covers and ran for the door, but the other three were holding it shut. He settled for pounding his fists against it. "I'm not tired!"

"Go to bed, Carlos!" he heard James scream.

"Nooo," the Latino whined, and in spite of himself, yawned. "I don't want to."

Someone snorted. "That yawn says you do," Logan called.

"No it doesn't!" Carlos threw himself onto the floor and squinted at their feet through the door crack. "I'm not moving until you guys let me out!"

"And we're not moving until you go to sleep!" Kendall shouted.

"THEN I'M NOT MOVING!"

But before the Latino could even realize it, he had fallen asleep. And when James crept back in ten minutes later, lifted him off the floor and tucked him into bed, he didn't even stir.

* * *

"Seventy bucks!" James screeched, incredulous. "Why the hell is it so expensive?"

The cab driver gave the pretty boy an annoyed look. "What did you expect? I drove you from Hollywood to Venice—on a freakin' Sunday. Now pay up."

Carlos groaned and covered his face with his hands. "We should have taken the Metro." He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and grabbed a mess of twenties, tens, and yogurt coupons. "Here."

James pushed his hand back and shook his head. "No, we need that." He reached into his own pocket and extracted a shiny black card. "Do you take credit?"

The cab driver sighed. "Yeah, give it here."

Once the transaction had taken place and the cab had driven away, Carlos turned to look up at James, asking, "Since when did you have a credit card?"

James chuckled and shoved the card back into his pocket. "Since I stole it from Kendall."

Carlos furrowed his eyebrows. "Since when did—"

"Since he stole it from Gustavo."

"Oh."

They walked a ways down the seaside road for about ten minutes, talking about everything and yet nothing in particular: Cuda Manspray, boxers vs. briefs (boxers won), Friday night's party in 3C (which strangely resulted in James abruptly switching the subject), and whether or not they would find the churro guy again. Presently the conversation dropped to a lull, and they began to walk on in a thoughtful silence.

Suddenly James stopped.

Carlos cocked his head, inquiring, "What?"

James was silent for a moment longer before blurting, "Are you coming home with us or not?"

Carlos dropped his gaze down to the cracked pavement. Looking back on the previous afternoon—or what he could remember of it, which wasn't much—he remembered the way Kendall had yelled at him, and the way he had cried after that. But Kendall had made up with him and everything was fine again—sort of. Unless he decided not to go.

Then he would be alone.

"Please, Carlitos."

Realizing he had been quiet for a spell too long, the Latino looked up. James was giving him this strange, half-pleading, half-_desperate_ look. It was unnerving. He hadn't seen his best friend look so, _so vulnerable_ since the night they had auditioned for Gustavo. For a moment he even wondered if he was still the same hair-obsessed, overly-confident sixteen year-old and not some Neptunian with a plan to destroy the entire human race.

"Please?"

He didn't have much of a choice, did he?

_Anything's better than being alone._

"Okay," he answered quietly. He managed a small smile.

And suddenly he found himself in another one of James's tight bear hugs. For a moment he still felt uncertain, but when James whispered "Thanks buddy," in his ear, he found himself returning the hug just as tightly. He leaned his head against the pretty boy's upper arm.

By and by Carlos became aware of something peculiar. The first thing he noticed was that they were standing a few feet away from the thrift store he had bought the Alien Workshop board from; and the second being that a grungy-looking guy was leaning against the store's door-frame, smoking a cigarette and shooting them a dark look. Carlos stiffened.

So James had always been a cuddler—he had been like that for as long as the Latino could remember. Big deal, right? But the stranger's menacing glare still gave Carlos the creeps.

"James." Carlos nudged James's side and tried to untangle himself from him.

James let him go and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Anyway, let's go—we have to go back to the Palmwoods before Mrs. Knight does." He turned and began walking toward the thrift store.

Carlos furrowed his eyebrows. He followed after the pretty boy. "Wait, why? We're not grounded anymore."

"Kendall still is, and he wants to check out the car with us."

"What's wrong with the—" Carlos suddenly froze.

He really, really didn't want to go near that store—which was irrational, he knew, because he had been fine in it the day before—but that dude—that dude at the front was really, really freaking him out.

James seemed to have sensed that the Latino had stopped. He quickly turned around, demanding, "What are you waiting for? Come on."

Carlos reluctantly began to follow him again, dragging his feet. He stared at the pavement and hoped they would be left alone.

And then James turned away from the doorway a bit.

Oh God. He was going to talk to that creepy guy—no, maybe he wasn't. Maybe they could just walk past him and—

"David," James addressed the stranger coldly, much to Carlos's dismay.

David raised his eyebrows. He looked at James for a moment before giving Carlos a lewd, obvious once-over. Carlos stiffened, backing away a bit. He reached up, clicking the straps on his helmet shut.

"So you came back," the stranger commented back to the pretty boy just as coldly.

James seemed to have noticed his sudden interest in Carlos, because he moved just enough to block the Latino a bit. "I'm not here for that. Where's Henry?" he demanded.

Henry? Who in the world was Henry? Wait—here for _what_?

David tossed his cigarette onto the ground, grinding it out with his foot. He reached into his pocket and casually lit another one. "Who's your friend?" he asked, ignoring his question. He smirked.

Carlos shrank behind James a bit further, peeking around his arm.

"No one you should be interested in," James snapped. He grabbed Carlos's arm, pulling him past David and into the store.

"James," the Latino whispered as the pretty boy pulled him down a musty aisle, "Why are we even here? Can we leave? This place is giving me the creeps."

"But you were fine the last time. What's changed?" But instead of turning around, James pulled him toward a rickety door. "But we have to do this or else we can't go home." The pretty boy pushed open the door.

_That guy outside, for starters._

"But—" Whoa. The Latino's eyes widened at the large contraption in the other room. "It's a giant panini maker!" He clapped his hands, forgetting about David.

James burst out laughing.

"I had a feeling you'd come back," a voice drawled from behind him.

Carlos turned to find a guy with dreads behind him. "Come back for what?" he blurted. "Panini's?" His stomach growled.

The boy chuckled at him. "I'm Henry. And you are?"

"Carlos." He felt James quickly slide an arm around his shoulders, but thought nothing of it. Henry seemed pretty nice. "Are we having panini's?"

Henry laughed again. "You're funny. Say something else."

"I can sing stuff too," Carlos announced proudly.

"Go then."

Throwing his arm around James's shoulders as well, he reared up and sang, "My girl was leaving for the weekend, I went out drinking with my best friend. There was this cougar, she wasn't sober, gave me her number—it's my girlfriend's mother. OH!"

He grinned when Henry and James erupted into fits of laughter. "That's so messed up," James remarked.

"Seriously. Anyway..." Henry's voice trailed off. He gave James a strange look, as if he were asking him something.

James stiffened. "No. Not that." He grasped Carlos a bit tighter. The Latino frowned. What the heck was going on?

"Plates," the pretty boy said.

"For panini's?" Carlos asked.

Henry shook his head, smiling. He stepped past them and into the other room. "Washington or Nebraska?" he called.

James let go of Carlos and followed him. "Uh, Nebraska."

Carlos wandered in after him. He watched Henry rifle beneath the panini-maker-esque contraption. "Wait, are we getting fake license plates?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"'Cause Logan will throw another bitch-fest if we don't," James snickered.

Carlos laughed.

"What's this about Logan bitching?" a familiar voice chuckled.

The Latino's eyes widened. "Guitar Dude! What are you doing here?"

The druggie stepped into the room from behind them and set his guitar and backpack on a faded green sofa to his immediate right. He then plopped down next to it and immediately lit a cigarette. "Lookin' for a hallelujah," he chuckled, patting the seat next to him. "Come share."

"Hey 'Dude," Henry said as Carlos settled himself, "You know these guys?"

Guitar Dude passed off the cigarette. "Yeah. Palmwoods. 'Sup James." He nodded to the pretty boy. "Come sit with us."

James obeyed and dropped down next to Carlos. "Thanks, but we're leaving soon." He smiled when Carlos handed him the cigarette.

They sat in a mildly awkward silence for a bit, watching Henry dig through piles of miscellaneous papers and objects and passing the cigarette amongst themselves until Carlos ended up with the last of it. He was about to take the last huff when Henry suggested he sing "the song about the cougar" again.

The Latino's face lit up, basking in the warmth of another excuse to be silly. "My girl was leaving for the weekend, I went out drink—" He suddenly caught sight of David leering at him from the doorway, prompting him to break out into an abrupt coughing fit, accidentally dropping the lit cigarette onto James's thigh.

And all hell broke loose.

"I'M ON FIRE!" the pretty boy screamed, flailing and immediately knocking into Carlos, who in turn, flew into Guitar Dude, accidentally shoving the guitar out of his hands and over the armrest with a loud clang of splintering wood and off-key dings.

"Dude!" Guitar Dude hollered over James's shrieks of "GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFFF!" The druggie bust out into a whoop. "That noise was fucking awesome!"

Carlos frantically swatted James's leg. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he apologized profusely over and over again, pleading, "Please don't be mad please please..."

James looked as if he were going to kill him right then and there. But a moment later, his gaze softened and his scowl spread out into an amused grin. "Dammit Carlos, I fucking hate you sometimes," he laughed.

Well, at least James was going to let him live another day. But Guitar Dude and Henry's loud laughter pushed him to blush in fierce embarrassment.

"Well isn't it interesting how things work out," a malicious voice uttered from the doorway.

Carlos whipped his head around to the doorway and stiffened, subconsciously scooting closer to James, who shot David a murderous look.

David raised his eyebrows and smirked in obvious amusement.

Carlos sucked in a quick breath, sinking deeper into James's side. God, that guy was really freaking him out.

"Hey David," Henry said, seemingly picking up on the tension. "Go upstairs and ask DC if we have any more Nebraska plates."

David gave Carlos a long look before disappearing through the door.

"What the fuck is his problem?" Carlos hissed, "He keeps giving me this creep-ass look."

"David?" Guitar Dude plucked the remaining string on his mess of a guitar before continuing, "That's weird—he's usually pretty chill."

James gave a low growl. He suddenly turned to the Latino with a possessive look on his face. "Carlos, go get a churro."

"Why?" Carlos immediately questioned.

"Just go."

"Are you coming too?"

"No we need the plate. But I'll catch up."

The Latino leaped up, relieved to have an excuse to leave, even if it was alone. He turned to Guitar Dude, who was plucking out a crude song with the remaining guitar string. "Sorry about the guitar," he apologized, ashamed.

Guitar Dude waved him off. "Nah, it's whatever. It'll look cool on my wall, and then I'll just get another one."

Carlos grinned and turned to leave. He was almost to the doorway when James called him back. "Oh hey I forgot, gimme your wallet."

Carlos furrowed his eyebrows. "Why do you want my wallet?"

"Plate money, remember?"

"Oh yeah." Carlos grabbed his wallet out of his pocket and plucked out a five for the churro. He then tossed the pretty boy the wallet. He was about to leave again when he was stopped again by Guitar Dude. "Hey man, if you guys are leaving, you better take this with you." He unzipped his backpack and pulled out an navy argyle-sweater. "Here." He balled it up and tossed it over James's head and into Carlos's hands.

"Why do you have Logan's sweater?" James asked.

Carlos was wondering the same thing. "Yeah?" And then a sneaky thought crossed his mind: _What if it has to do with the bongo incident?_ He grinned.

Guitar Dude looked at them for a long moment before breaking out into a bout of uproarious laughter. "Nah, it was just in the laundry room—guess _someone_ forgot it."

"Oh," Carlos breathed, skeptical and disappointed at once. He gave the sweater a thoughtful look. "See you guys later," he said before finally trooping out into the main store.

The store was empty, and he barely registered the faint "_thump-da-thump_" coming from the ceiling. A shrill sea breeze swooped in through the aisles and rustled the five-dollar bill out of the Latino's hands. "Hey!"

He chased after it, free hand outstretched down an aisle of dusty old board games and decade-old electronics near the back wall. "Come back here!"

He almost had it in his hand when another gust of air swept the bill out of his reach and around a shelf corner. "Oh come on!" he protested, darting after it—

And slamming right into David.

Carlos's heart skipped a beat.

David appeared to be unfazed. He grabbed the Latino by the collar when he tried to run and snickered. "Well isn't it interesting how things work out," he reiterated in a low voice.

Paralyzing didn't even begin to describe the surge of panic Carlos felt rip through his blood current. He was terrified, terrified, _terrified_—and became even more so when David slammed a hand across his mouth. "What's so special about you?" he snarled, laughing when Carlos's eyes grew even wider in fear. "And seriously, what's with the helmet?"

Carlos let out a shaky growl. He tried to wrench himself from his oppressor's grip, but David quickly snatched onto the clasp on his helmet, threatening, "Try anything, and I'll snap your neck quicker than a snake." He shoved the Latino against the wall.

But despite David's threat, Carlos fought fiercely against him, trying to shove him off. "Let me go," he tried to hiss. He attempted to shove Logan's sweater in his face in hopes of deterring him for a few seconds.

David let go of his mouth and caught his wrist, pinning it against the wall above him. "Nice try."

Carlos gave another violent thrash. "L-Let me go!" he tried to yell, but—oh God, he couldn't even hear himself above—wait, wait, was that—oh God, _it was_—his heart beating? _Thump-da-thump, thump-da-thump._ "Let me—"

And then David gave him a rough, sloppy kiss.

_Thump-da-thump._

Carlos was horrified. But before he could protest, David pulled away for a moment. "You know," he snickered, tilting the Latino's chin up, "You're actually really kinda fucking cute." He licked his lips hungrily.

Carlos squirmed. _Thump-da-thump._

"You hear that noise?" David glanced at the ceiling. "That's _the twins._"

_Thump-da-thump._

_Thump-da-thump._

David laughed. "Maybe we should go join them." He winked.

Carlos panicked, realizing _just what these twins were doing._ "NO!" Shoving aside whatever pride he had left, he closed his eyes, sucked in one of those "diaphragmatic breaths" Gustavo was always rambling on about and SCREAMED.

He didn't even know why he did it. Maybe it was instinctive. Or maybe deep down, a part of him hoped, or maybe even already _knew_ James would come to his rescue. After all, even the omega in the pack had the right to protection.

He felt David slam his hand across his mouth again. "You really shouldn't have—"

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

Carlos's eyes snapped open just in time to see a blur of glossy hair slam his oppressor to the floor. "I'm gonna fucking kill you," James snarled into David's face.

"Oh yeah I'd like to see you fucking try—"

The Latino didn't hear the rest. He ran blindly for the door, shoving an astonished Henry out of the way and accidentally pummeling Guitar Dude into a rack of surfboards with a loud crash.

The druggie must have hit his head relatively hard because the last thing Carlos heard before shooting out onto the street was a dreamy "I think I found hallelujah... well hello there..."

No. Not "hello there." And no, Carlos decided as he tore past the curio stands and eccentric teenagers who gave him half-curious looks, Venice was most definitely _not_ a place of hallelujah.


	14. For the Customary Nods

**OHMYGOD THIS CHAPTER IS FINALLY DONE. You guys have NO IDEA... Wow. Gosh these things get _so_ long.**

**Allusions from the previous chapter: "lemons with three seeds in them" - Spongebob; "the song about the cougar" - _Spank That_ by Varsity Fanclub**

**Thank you so much to everyone who has alert-ed, favorited and reviewed-You guys are awesome and definitely make my day.**

**Read & Review! Enjoy.**

* * *

"Well, are you just gonna stand there and pout or are you gonna help me?"

Logan shot the blond a defensive look from the doorway. "I wasn't 'pouting.'" He sighed when Kendall raised an amused eyebrow. "I just… I just really don't think this is a good idea…"

He watched the blond rifle through Mrs. Knight's sock drawer in search of the Big Time Rush Mobile's keys for another moment. "Besides," he added anxiously, "What if she notices the keys are gone?"

Kendall chuckled as he pulled open another drawer. "Oh our little Logie… So pessimistic, so scared of everything."

In spite of his anxiety, the brunette rolled his eyes. "I'm not scared of _everything_," he retorted, drawing in a huffy breath when Kendall snorted, "I'm just cautious—one quality that YOU seem to be missing."

Kendall abandoned his project for a moment and flashed him an overdose of his notorious dimples. "A life without risk is a life unlived, my friend."

Logan sighed again.

Kendall rolled his eyes and turned back to the chest of drawers. "Whatever."

Logan cast an anxious glance down the hallway. "What if your mom comes back and finds us in here?" he tried.

"She won't be back 'til five," the blond said as he carelessly threw open another drawer. "She got a job at that one seafood place." He suddenly slammed his hand down on the top of the dresser, obviously frustrated. "Where the hell is it?" he muttered.

"But—"

"LOGAN!" the blond yelled, prompting the brunette to slightly flinch. But when he turned to look at him, he was smiling. "Chill, okay?"

Logan took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, counting _one-two-three-four-one-two-three-four_. But not even the four-count breathing technique could soothe his fraying nerves.

The truth was, the brunette's anxiety stemmed from _so much more_ than his best friend could have suspected.

After Logan had confirmed that Friday's, uh, encounter had indeed been a dream, he had gone to bed Saturday night in a very worried and anxious state.

With all reason.

He had dreamed about Kendall again: pinning him against the wall, yanking him down into a less-than-sweet kiss and pulling, pulling at his hair until the blond yelped against his lips. The brunette had gotten as far as having abrasively wrenched his fingers beneath the waistband of his best friend's boxers when he had suddenly awakened, finding himself panting in a cold sweat and absolutely horrified.

And the _fact itself_ that Kendall was now giving him that obnoxious, full-dimpled grin was really, really freaking him out.

_I should have gone to Venice with James and Carlos._

"Um, Logan?"

The brunette blinked, realizing he had been staring off into space for the last minute. "Uh, yeah?"

The blond chuckled. "You're so—" He suddenly paled. "Never mind." He abruptly turned back to the open drawer. "So are you going to help me or not?" he asked.

But Logan had zoned out again. He really shouldn't have been dreaming about Kendall—_really_ shouldn't have. They were only friends. Whatever had happened in that hotel room was to be never mentioned; it was gone, lost in history. Kendall seemed to have been able to push it behind himself and continue on with his life—so why couldn't _he?_

And then the realization suddenly struck the brunette.

He was scared.

So, so very scared.

But not of his feelings—for there weren't any, at least none of _that_ kind—but of the simple fact that he had slept with his best friend in the first place—initiated it, even.

Logan _never_ initiated sex. The times he had slept with Camille, the method actress had immediately taken the upper-hand, slamming him hard against whatever they were near. He had never questioned it, instead falling into the familiar pattern where he followed orders.

Kendall's eyes suddenly lit up. "That's it!"

Logan stepped over to the dresser. "You realize that this plan is terrible and we should stay here and be good?" he asked hopefully.

Kendall snorted and waved him away. "No—but remember that one time my mom took my Game Boy away? I found it like a year later _under_ the dresser." Leaving the upper drawers open, the blond dropped onto his stomach and peered beneath the dresser. "Awesome," he said smugly.

Logan nervously twiddled his thumbs as he watched the blond fish the key out. "Kendall, I really don't think—"

"Logan," Kendall started as he began rise back up quickly, "You can't—" BAM! The blond hit his head against the bottom of one of the open drawers and collapsed back onto the carpet.

"Kendall!" Feeling his doctoral-instincts kick in, Logan dropped to his side. "Are you okay?" He shoved the drawer closed with one hand and pulled the blond into a sitting position with the other. "Dude, that looked like it _hurt_."

Kendall winced and cupped the back of his head. "Yeah," he hissed through gritted teeth, "and it still does."

Logan sucked in a worried breath. "You have to rub it—no, you're doing it wrong—here." He swatted Kendall's hand away and tried to massage his head, but the blond suddenly wrenched himself out of his grasp, turning his face away and protesting, "I'm fine, I'm fine."

"No you're not—"

"Yes I am—Logan, really—I'm fine—ow."

Logan grabbed hold of him again. "See? You're not fine." He tried to rub his head again, but like before, the blond quickly turned away from him.

"Kendall—hold still!"

Kendall suddenly whipped around and looked at him. "I-I'm fine, really!"

Logan's eyes grew very wide.

Kendall was _blushing._

_Kendall-fucking-Knight was blushing._

But, _why?_

So he hit his head—big deal, right? Logan had seen him acquire worse injuries on the ice: insane bruises that strongly resembled the hot springs at Yellowstone, broken bones and multiple sprains—so why was he suddenly acting so—so bashful? It didn't make any sense.

The front door suddenly slammed shut, yanking Logan from his thoughts and immediately plunging him into panic mode. He scrambled off the floor and ran for the door, hissing over his shoulder, "Your mom's home!" He darted through the hall and into the living room. "Um, uh, hi, Mamma Knight—"

Carlos shoved past him. "It's just me," he snapped. He disappeared into his bedroom for a moment before emerging with a blue hockey stick. He looked as if he were about to murder someone.

Logan frowned. "What's wrong?"

Carlos glared at him before pushing him out of the way. "I'm taking a shower," he grumbled.

Logan raised an eyebrow. He followed him to the bathroom, concerned. "With a hockey stick?"

Carlos spun around and shot him another death glare. "Yes, Logan, I AM taking a shower with this hockey stick. You got a problem with that?" He then tried to slam the bathroom door shut, but Logan was suddenly pushed out of the way by Kendall, who propped the door open with his foot. "Carlos! What's up with you, man?" the blond demanded, wide-eyed. "Did something happen?"

The Latino looked as if he were about to scream. "Did something happen? Oh something happened alright—a _fucking guy_ wanted to rape me, that's what happened!"

Logan's mouth dropped open. He watched Carlos succeed in pushing Kendall out of the doorway long enough to be able to shut it with a slam before he finally squeaked out, "Wait, how did—"

The front door suddenly banged open, diverting Logan's attention in time to see James run in, screaming, "Carlos!" He threw a couple of license plates on the floor and turned to them, eyes blown wide with something that was immediately recognizable as desperation. The pretty boy shot for the bathroom door, shoving Kendall into the brunette, who immediately let out a loud squeak and fell against the kitchen counter.

"Carlos!" James gasped, pounding his fists on the bathroom door, "Open up. Please!"

"I'm taking a fucking shower!" Carlos screamed from the other end.

"What the fuck is going on?" Kendall demanded. When James ignored him in favor of trying to pummel the door down and crying out to Carlos, the blond grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "James! What the fuck happened?"

James looked as if he were going to start bawling or pass out from anxiety overload. He sucked in a raspy breath and sank down against the door. "We went to Venice," he choked, "and this one guy tried to rape Carlos." He gave a hard shudder and closed his eyes. "So I beat him up and Carlos ran away, and then I found him and we came back here." He opened his eyes. "H-He was fine and then all of a sudden he wasn't... Kendall?"

Kendall stiffened.

Logan's eyes grew even wider than they already were. Uh oh.

He watched Kendall let go of James and slowly stand up. "K-Kendall?" the pretty boy repeated.

The blond didn't answer.

Logan gulped.

Kendall walked past the brunette and calmly opened a drawer on the far side of the kitchen, drawing out a carving knife. Logan gasped. "K-Kendall, what are you _doing?_"

Kendall didn't look at him. "I'm gonna go finish fucking killing him," he growled.

"Kendall, NO!" Shoving aside the awkwardness that seemed to have settled on their friendship, Logan ran after the blond and leaped onto his back, tackling him to the floor. The knife skid a few more feet before disappearing under a cabinet. "Are you fucking crazy?" he yelled.

Kendall growled violently beneath him. "Get off," he snarled.

"For what?" Logan barked, pushing the blond harder against the linoleum when he tried to throw him off, "So you can go commit HOMICIDE?"

"That guy tried to _rape_ Carlos!" Kendall roared, thrashing. A loud whimper came from the other end of the kitchen.

Logan drew in an exasperated breath. "So we should make sure Carlos is _okay_, and NOT go and get ourselves locked up in federal prison! Think, Kendall!"

Kendall thrashed harder. "But he tried to hurt Carlos!" he screamed. "And I have to protect you guys 'cause—"

"KENDALL! LISTEN TO ME." Logan shoved his arm beneath the blond's neck and pulled him into a headlock. "YOU CAN'T JUST GO AND SHOVE KNIVES INTO PEOPLE LIKE THAT. IT'S NOT GOING TO FUCKING SOLVE ANYTHING." He pressed Kendall's forehead against the floor, feeling the blond's sweat trickle onto his other arm. "Don't you think you should be worrying about _Carlos_, and not revenge?"

The apartment was silent for a few minutes after that, with the exception of the soft sobs on the other end of the kitchen and Kendall's haggard breaths. Presently the blond spoke.

"You're right."

Logan withdrew his arm from the blond's neck and breathed in sigh of relief. "Oh good."

He felt Kendall shudder in another gasp of air, and for a moment, the brunette could hear a faint "one-two-three-four-one-two-three-four…" And in spite of the circumstances, he smiled a little. It was nice knowing Kendall had learned the four-count breathing exercise from him.

When he was convinced that his best friend's breathing had returned to normal, he stood up. "Come on," he said, offering him a hand.

Kendall sat up and looked at him. His cheeks flushed, and once again, the brunette felt a bit panicked. _Blushing, blushing, blushing._ Why was he _blushing?_ "Thanks," the blond mumbled, taking his hand and pulling himself up. He turned toward the bathroom.

James was still sitting against the bathroom door, only now Logan saw that he had been the source of the crying. The brunette watched Kendall slowly walk over and pull him up. The blond then grabbed a napkin off the counter and handed it to him, gave him a pat on the back and knocked on the door. "Carlos?"

"Go away," came the sour reply.

"Come on, please open the door."

"No!"

Kendall threw his hands up and sighed.

Logan pushed his thoughts away and quickly crossed over to him. "Here, let me try. Carlos?" he said gently, "Please, please, please come out of there. We know you're not taking a shower. And you can't hide in there forever."

"Yes I can."

Logan shook his head. "No, you can't. Besides," he started, smiling a bit, "there aren't any 'macaronies' in there."

There was a small scrambling noise and a moment later, the door creaked open. "But you guys will give me some, right?" he whispered worriedly, peering out.

Logan laughed. "Not if you don't come out of there."

Carlos pouted.

Kendall laughed and pushed the door open. "Come on," he chuckled, grabbing the Latino's wrist and pulling him into the kitchen.

Carlos yelped. "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

Logan's heart broke a little. _He thought he was in trouble._ He wrapped an arm around the Latino's shoulders.

A look of deep hurt crossed the blond's face. "Carlos," Kendall whispered, "No, you're not in trouble."

Carlos seemed to relax a little. He was silent for a long moment. "He said some stuff, and there were these twins… It was really, really scary... but I guess nothing happened."

Kendall's eyes narrowed. "It's still really messed up… but you're okay, right?"

Carlos nodded. "Yeah, I guess so." He was silent for a moment, growing very serious. "But you guys would _never_ do something like that to me, right?"

Logan winced. "How can you even say that?" He gave the Latino a reassuring squeeze. "_None of us would ever even consider_ doing something like that."

Carlos looked at him. "Thanks." He gave Logan a small smile before apparently spotting James sitting on a stool, sniffling a bit. "James, why are you crying?" the Latino asked.

The pretty boy gave his eyes a vigorous wipe. "I dunno—I-I guess I was just scared. Y-You're my best friend."

Carlos seemed to beam at that. He ran toward James and threw himself onto him, knocking him to the floor with a thud and a loud playful growl of laughter.

And as Logan watched them wrestle, he felt a small twinge of sadness. He just _had_ to all liquor-happy and sleep with Kendall, and in his opinion, it had pretty much ruined their whole friendship—and now the brunette was beginning to feel the sting of the distance. He gave Kendall a hesitant glance as James let out a particularly bright shriek, but the blond was sitting at the counter, head in his hands, lost in thought.

* * *

After Kendall had decided that it was best if Carlos stayed inside, watched cartoons and ate macaroni and cheese, and James had been convinced that he looked fine _and no, it did not look as if he had been crying;_ the boys gathered up the license plates, a few tools and water bottles and trooped out.

Once they were in the elevator, Logan took a look at the license plates. "So why Washington?" he asked.

"They were the only ones they had," James grumbled. "I hate Washington."

Kendall snorted. "Why? You've never even been to Washington."

The pretty boy shrugged. "Yeah I know… But I just get this feeling that if I ever went there, something bad would happen. Like I'd fall down an elevator shaft or something."

Logan began to laugh, but as soon as the elevator doors slid open, he grew quiet.

Although the media had forgotten about the nightclub scandal rather quickly—they were, after all, still a relatively unknown band—many of the people at the Palmwoods hadn't. And how could they: the gossip traveled around more aggressively than Lightning after a fine piece of lady-dog's ass. He immediately dropped his gaze to the carpet when he spotted the Jennifers whispering in hushed tones by a large planter.

After he had finally stopped crying over Gustavo's _ARE YOU AND SMART BOY GAY FOR EACH OTHER__ NOW OR SOMETHING?_ that Saturday afternoon, the brunette had locked himself in the bathroom, tearfully picked up the phone and called home—to see if his parents had already found out, to explain, to—_anything_.

His father had answered the phone. Yes, a neighbor had come by with a supermarket magazine. No, they weren't upset. No, they weren't proud of it either. No, his mother's mood hadn't been influenced by his actions; she had already woken up that way. No, she wouldn't come to the phone, she was asleep.

They hadn't even cared. They hadn't even called for an explanation—he had called them; a small part of him yearning for a gunfire-like interrogation or even a sharp scolding.

But even that hadn't been what had hurt him the most.

_"You know, now tha__t you're famous enough to at least make Daily Magazine, you should get the media to help us find Natasha."_

Natasha. His sister. The soiled glitz-pageant queen. His parents' obvious favorite. And yet he couldn't hate her, or even _dislike_ her. She had adored him: Baby Logan this and Baby Logan that—hugs and cuddles and tickles that had him giggling throughout his younger years. And although his parents had paid attention to him, he had discovered at a very early age that they were—a bit _indifferent_ with him.

At first he had thought it was the pageantry. His mother's entire salary was focused on Natasha's coaching, ballet lessons, attire and entrance fees. Human beings were naturally attracted to shiny things, and in his family's case, he supposed, those shiny things were the trophies and medals and crowns Natasha had never failed to acquire. But as he had grown older and Natasha had grown angrier and angrier, he had began to see that his parents were, by a sad default, definitely more interested in Natasha than they were in him.

But of course, Natasha had continued to love and fawn over him until—

An a cappella version of Guitar Dude's "What's up, what's up, what's uuup!" suddenly rang in his face, snapping the brunette back to attention. "What happened to—"

"Dude!" Kendall exclaimed, cutting him off and gesturing toward the smashed guitar the druggie was holding, "What happened to your guitar?"

Guitar Dude grinned. "Carlos happened, that's what. Doesn't it look awesome? I'm gonna hang it on my wall." He admired the guitar for a moment before looking at James. "You find Carlos?"

James nodded. "Yeah. He's okay."

"Good. Hey, do any of you guys have a safety pin?"

Logan shook his head. "Why?"

Guitar Dude shrugged. "Sharp things are cool."

_You could say that again._ Logan looked away for a moment, but his eye caught onto something navy, crumpled, and argyle-patterned lying by the front desk.

"Is that my _sweater?_" He ran over and snatched it up. "It is!" Turning toward the others, he shrieked, "What is this doing here?"

James shrugged; Kendall's eyes grew rounder than the full moon, and Guitar Dude bust out laughing. "Guess Carlos dropped it," he chuckled.

"_Carlos?_ Why would Carlos have my—" _Wait a moment. Wait one fucking moment._ The cum-stain! The brunette immediately flipped the sweater out.

It was clean. Un-splotched, un-tainted—clean.

Concrete evidence that Friday night had been a dream.

"I just don't understand how it could have gotten down here," Logan muttered quietly to himself.

Kendall suddenly cleared his throat. "Hey, uh, my mom is coming home in like two hours, so can we go do what we have to do now?"

Logan looked at him and gulped. _"Dammit, Kendall! If you don't shut up, people are going to come down here and find us," he hissed_. He had been dreaming. Fucking dreaming. True, he had already had a strong reason to believe so, but to have solid evidence—that was something else. "But—"

"TWO HOURS!" The blond reached out and grabbed his wrist, successfully drawing a loud yelp out of him. "Come on." He dragged the brunette toward the front doors, and all those in the lobby raised their eyebrows at Logan's heightened protests and Guitar Dude's uproarious laughter.

* * *

In the parking lot, as soon as Kendall let go of him in favor of backing the car out from under the carport, Logan tossed the sweater into the backseat.

"Fuck," James whined as he popped open the hood, "It's like a billion degrees out." He tore off his shirt, throwing it into the backseat as well. "Ugh."

"Actually," Logan began, "if it were really a billion degrees out here—"

"I know, I know," James grumbled, rolling his eyes. "We'd be dead." He disappeared behind the hood.

Logan gave a huffy sigh.

"Thank god your dad taught you car stuff," Kendall said as he slammed the car door shut. He pulled a screwdriver out of his pocket and took the license plates from Logan. "Now we'll know if we'll actually make it to Minnesota." He walked around to the back end of the car and crouched down, unscrewing the real plate.

"Isn't your dad the police station's personal mechanic?" Logan asked.

"Yup," came the smug reply from the front end.

There was a short lull after that, in which Logan just stood there awkwardly, waiting for a task, but Kendall kept at his project, and James soft hums rode through the warm air. God, it really was hot out. The brunette began to pull at his shirt.

"Okay, listen up," Kendall announced as Logan dropped his shirt onto the backseat, "I decided we're leaving Tuesday night at one in the morning."

Logan began to grow anxious again. They were really going to go through with this—he had been hoping the idea would just blow over; disappear—but the more Kendall spoke and told them what to do, the more cemented the idea became.

"Why Tuesday?" he asked nervously, walking over to him.

The blond pulled the real license plate off the car and dropped it onto the asphalt. "So I'll have two days to get food, money and pack."

"You know we're going to need a lot of gas money," Logan said in hopes of discouraging the blond, "Where are you going to get that?"

Kendall gave a nonchalant shrug. "Well, I already have yours, James and Carlos's money, and I'll get into Griffin's wallet tomorrow—"

Logan's mouth dropped open. "Griffin's wallet? Are you fucking insane? We'll get in so much—wait, how the hell do you already have my money?"

Kendall began to put the screws into the new plate. "Duh, bank account."

"How the fuck did you get into my bank account?" Logan shrieked.

"I know your pin number, dude."

"How do you—ugh, never mind." The brunette let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"Anyways." Kendall reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to the brunette and continued on with the plate. "Here. I printed out a map and directions. It'll take us like, four or five days to get home."

Logan unfolded the map and studied the blue highlighter marks for a moment. "You do realize we have to avoid the main roads and freeways," he stated.

Kendall stopped and looked up at the brunette. He frowned. "Why?"

Logan began to re-fold the map. "Because the cops are going to have the Amber Alert all over the place—someone's definitely going to see us."

"But that's going to take longer," James protested from behind the hood.

"It's fine," Kendall declared, "I'll print out a new map tonight. Don't worry—the important thing is to get home, right?"

Logan swallowed. "I still don't think—"

"Logan!" James whined, coming around to the side of the car. His chest was marked with swatches of motor oil and grease. "Just stop fucking worrying about everything."

The brunette sighed as he watched Kendall shoot James a dark look. The pretty boy immediately looked to the floor, bit his lip and returned to his post.

The blond looked back up at Logan and grinned. "Logan, just stop fucking worrying about everything," he reiterated.

"I just said that!" James hissed.

Kendall chuckled.

Logan dropped the map onto the trunk and looked away. "I just don't want to, you know, 'run away,'" he said quietly.

Kendall stood up and tossed the screwdriver and the real license plate into the backseat. He then sat down on the trunk. "It's not running away if you're coming back," he said gently.

Natasha ran away once.

Twice, if you counted the last—

"Logan?"

Logan blinked. "What?"

"You're zoning out again," Kendall laughed, flashing him those ridiculous dimples again. "You're so weird."

The brunette made a "harrumph" noise and rolled his eyes. "Thanks. I've heard," he snapped.

Kendall laughed again. A lock of hair fell over his right eye. "Aw, you know I didn't mean it that—"

"GIRLFRIEND ALERT!" James shot around the car again. "Jo and Camille just pulled into the lot," he hissed.

Logan sucked in a nervous breath. Fuck, his face was still sore from being slapped. He threw Kendall a panicked look. "Hurry maybe if we hide Camille won't—"

"Jo's here?" Kendall's face lit up. He ricocheted off the trunk and began to frantically push the hair out of his face.

James snorted. "Like Jo wants anything to do with you."

Kendall glared at him. "Diamond…" he warned.

The pretty boy rolled his eyes. He turned to Logan. "You better hide unless you wanna get smacked in the face."

Logan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "I don't have enough time…" His eyes snapped open. Desperate, he dropped onto the pavement and rolled under the car just in time to hear Kendall's eager welcome: "Hi Jo! Hey Camille."

"Hey," the girls said simultaneously. "What's wrong with the car?" Logan heard Camille ask. He shut his eyes and prayed she wouldn't look beneath.

"Um, nothing," James lied, and a moment later Logan heard the hood crash down. "Just, you know, um—"

"Checking for squirrels," Kendall finished.

"Why would there be squirrels in your engine?" Jo asked.

"You k-know," Kendall stammered, "'cause they like, uh, uh, engine stuff—"

Logan opened his eyes. _The fuck..._

"For making toast," James said quickly, "'cause you know, it works if—hey is that a new top?"

"Yeah!" Camille said excitedly. "Isn't it awesome?"

Logan quietly groaned. Dammit, now James and Camille were talking about clothes. He was sure he would now be stuck under the car for quite some time. He stared up at the car and began studying the underside's layout.

"So, um, Jo, did you get a new shirt too?" James asked.

"No, but," Jo said slowly, "I wanted to talk to Kendall."

Logan rolled onto his stomach and lifted his head up. A pebble poked him in the belly button, prompting him to swear under his breath and immediately slam his own hand across his mouth.

"Really?" he heard Kendall say eagerly, "What?"

"It should be in private, so…" Logan watched Jo's flip-flopped feet cross over to Kendall's Vans, and a moment later, both pairs of feet began to walk off.

"Where are we going?" he heard Kendall chirp as Jo led him away.

"Okay," Logan silently mouthed, relieved. All he now had to do was wait for Camille to leave, and he would be—

"Logan, that is the worst hiding place ever." Camille's head appeared beneath the car, and he immediately winced. Fuck, he was definitely going to get it now!

She peered at him for another moment before grabbing his wrist. "You'd have better luck wearing a ridiculous tree hat."

James let out a loud snort.

The brunette swallowed nervously and let the method actress pull him out into the sunshine. "Yeah, I know," he sighed as he brushed the dirt off his chest and rubbed his sore belly button. He looked at her and braced himself, but the anticipated slap never came.

"You're not going to slap me?" he blurted.

Camille laughed. "I probably should, but considering the circumstances, I won't."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Circumstances?"

"Well, you know, you and Kendall—"

The color drained from Logan's face. "There's nothing between Kendall and me!" he squeaked. "Nothing!"

Camille didn't look all that convinced. She gestured toward the far end of the lot, where Jo and Kendall were arguing in hushed tones. "You try telling that to Jo."

"_Jo?_" Logan glanced over at them. Jo was now whispering, and Kendall looked both hurt and scandalized by whatever she was saying. "Why would Jo…" The brunette's voice trailed off. That kiss. That fucking kiss. He paled even more.

"Alright," James said awkwardly. He reached into the backseat and grabbed his shirt. "I'm gonna, uh, go—" His face suddenly lit up. "I'm gonna go check on Carlos!" He ran for the Palmwoods back entrance.

"She said she'd never forgive herself if she got in the way of anything," Camille elaborated as the glass doors swung shut, "And I guess…" The method actress lowered her gaze to the asphalt. "I wouldn't forgive myself either."

Logan's jaw dropped. "She's breaking up with him?" He sucked in a raspy breath when Camille nodded. "But there is _NOTHING_ going on between Kendall and me!"

Camille gave him a small smile. "You actually think it's always going to be that way?" She paused for a moment, her expression becoming serious. "You've never noticed just_ how much_ you depend on him? Or how much he actually _depends_ on you? Tell me something, Logan." She looked him straight in the eye. "Do you ever so much as _dream_ about him?"

Logan was taken aback. He opened his mouth to protest, but not a single sound came out. He stared at the method actress for a long moment, and then looked over to the far side of the lot. Jo was already on her way back, and Kendall's shoulders were drooping.

"Guess she did it," Camille said with a sigh.

And when the method actress had been led away by a silent, melancholy Jo, Kendall finally came back to the Big Time Rush Mobile, serious. He grabbed the remaining fake license plate and screwdriver, shoving them at Logan. "Finish the last one." He started for the doors.

Regaining his voice, the brunette hesitantly asked, "Are you okay?"

He didn't answer, instead disappearing into the apartment building.

* * *

_"Tasha?"_

In his bedroom, the then-eight year-old had awakened to the sound of muffled rustling. At first he had thought a raccoon had gotten into their trash, but when the noise came again, he became sure the source was within the house. Curious, he had quietly slipped out of bed and tip-toed into the dark hall. He had followed the sound until he had found himself at his sister's door, and upon seeing a dim light peek out from beneath, had cautiously opened it, finding a teenage Natasha shoving clothes into a small duffel bag on her unmade bed.

At the sound of his voice, the fifteen year-old turned to him. Deep blue rings hung below her blood-shot eyes, and Logan couldn't help but gasp. Although he watched her fight vehemently with their parents on an almost-daily basis, he had never seen so much internal strife cross her eyes as he did in that moment.

And a second later, it was gone.

"Logan." Natasha slowly sat down on the bed and gestured for him to come. The brunette obeyed, letting her pull him onto her lap. "Where are you going?" he asked.

Natasha was silent for a long time, clutching him tightly to herself. Finally she spoke. "Away." She sniffled.

"Where?"

Natasha sighed. "Just—just away." She squeezed him tighter.

Away could be anything. Away could be going to the grocery store, and coming back forty minutes later. Away could be going to Disney World. Away could be an angry shout to a bully. Away could be his best friend going home after a long day of let's-build-this-fort-and-pretend-we're-pirates-on-an-island. Away could be never coming back.

The brunette looked up at her. "When are you coming back?"

Natasha shook her head. "I don't know." She looked up at the ceiling, and in the dim light, Logan saw her swallow.

She looked down at him again and ran her thumb lightly across a small bruise on his cheek. "Did James hit you with a hockey stick again?"

Logan shook his head. "No, the librarian dropped a book on my head. But it's okay, she said sorry. And Kendall gave me his cookie at lunch."

Natasha smiled a little. "Kendall always takes care of you."

He didn't say anything, looking away instead, but he knew she was right. It was Kendall who had put James in his place when they were seven years-old. It was Kendall who had always shared everything with him, whether it was the secret to getting the best handball at recess or even that simple cookie.

"Promise me you guys will be friends forever."

Logan looked up at her again. "Why?"

She scooped him off her lap and deposited him on the bed next to a large green turtle plushie, giving him a serious look. "Just promise me," she whispered, arranging the comforter around him.

The eight year-old nodded. "I promise."

Natasha smiled again, only this time, she looked relieved. She zipped up the duffel bag and carefully placed it by the door. "I have to go now," she said as she crossed back over to him. She gave him a tight hug. "You stay here, okay?"

Logan's eyes began to fill with tears. "Don't leave," he sniffled.

Natasha let him go and took a step back. "I have to," she mouthed.

He cried for a while after she had taken up her belongings and left; curling up into a ball and burying his face under the stuffed-turtle. Eventually he fell asleep, awakening in the early morning to find his parents in hysterics. They demanded he tell them what he knew, but the only thing he did know was that she had gone.

The police found Natasha hiding out at a friend's house two days later and promptly hauled her back home. Logan knew Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell promised her things would change, but he still heard the endless lines of expletives lasting well into the night, and the night after that, and still the night after that. And it continued until the very day Natasha turned eighteen, when she left in a whirl of choked goodbyes and I-never-want-to-see-you-guys-again's.

That day sealed everything Logan would be.

The eleven year-old stood at the doorway for half-an-hour, and when he became fully convinced she wasn't coming back, gently closed the door. He then began his quiet trip down the hall, but a sudden spark of light caught his eye, prompting him to turn and slowly make his way back.

He approached the trophy case cautiously, almost as if he were seeing it for the first time. Row upon row of gleaming trophies: "Pine River Strut Grand Supreme," "Miss Pink-and-White Lady's Slipper." Glittering crowns set on brightly colored sashes accompanied by medals; the much-painted upon history of the tarnished star-child.

He turned his gaze to the living room, where his parents sat in their respective places. They were silent; his father shutting himself in from behind a wall of newspaper, and his mother perched on a chair, staring glassy-eyed at the dim, nearly silent television.

He looked back up at the trophy case, then back at his parents again, and did it so many times his neck began to ache. He gave the crowns one last, long look.

He would do it, and more. He would bring the trophies home. He would earn the ribbons. He would put all those books he had already read to use, and when his fingers grew tired of connecting cables and glowed bright red from being burned by the soldering gun, he would suck it up and break in another book, highlighting and underlining until he wanted to scream. He would do it. He would refill the trophy case; erase Natasha from his parents' sullen eyes and bring out the last shred of life in them. _He would do everything right. Everything._

He failed.

But to those who surrounded him: Kendall, James, and Carlos; his teachers and a few times, the mayor, he had won. Trophies and medals and ribbons and so many local newspaper spots he had seen James's face practically glare green with envy. But none of it had mattered; when he would burst through the front door, home from the science fair; arms full of trophies and awards and an excited peal of "Look look look what I won!," his parents would give him a blank stare and a silent nod. The trophies began to pile in his closet, and more than often he would find himself hastily wiping away the tears, resolving to try harder the next time—and the time after that, and the next—whatever it took to earn his parents' smiles.

Some days were better than others: his mother smiled a bit more and there were even moments in which Logan thought he had finally made it. But those days were rare; lasting only double-digit hours and returning to the same indifference much too soon.

The day Kendall scored them a deal with Gustavo Rocque, fifteen year-old Logan cautiously approached his parents, bracing himself for the customary nods and his own bitter disappointment. But inside, a big part of him still yearned for a vocal congratulation; recognition.

He didn't get it.

And so he left at two, and his best friends' excitement was intoxicating, but he was still anxious, so very anxious to coax some form of pride out his parents' stony eyes.

His mother had come to visit on Mother's Day, of course, out of what Logan assumed was loyalty to her friendship with Mrs. Knight. He hadn't really planned on showing her much affection—not because he didn't love her, for he did, but for the simple fact she had never really been very affectionate to him. Her love had just always lied with Natasha. So when Kelly had insisted that he hug his mother, it had felt quite a bit unnatural receiving her squeeze back.

And in a way, disappointing. He knew she much would have rather hugged her prodigal daughter.

And it continued to kill him inside.

His best friends didn't understand why everything he did had to be perfect. They didn't know about Natasha—at least not the truth. To them, she had gone to study abroad—Italy, he lied—and she was smart and dedicated and much too busy to drop back to the States for a visit.

_"Where are you going?"_

_"Away. Just—just away."_

He couldn't do it. He couldn't run—not when Natasha had, disappearing amongst the angry red and blue scribbles snaking across an off-white map. He couldn't—his parents would _never_ be proud of him for that; his mother would never recover. _Never. _And maybe he still hadn't succeeded in making their eyes shine, but he couldn't afford to backtrack. Not now.

He was going to have to tell Kendall he was out.


	15. Tonight is Going to Save Us

**YES! I MANAGED TO GET THIS CHAPTER UNDER FOUR-THOUSAND WORDS!**

**I sincerely apologize for the ridiculous length of the previous chapter; I really should have split it in two. But oh well.**

**A hello to all the new "alert-ers"! :D**

**Anyway, read and review. Enjoy.**

* * *

Tuesday evening found the four runaways-to-be at an uncharacteristically quiet dinner table. Even Katie was silent; preferring to scribble away in a small notebook.

Finally Mrs. Knight slammed her fork down. "Alright," she said in a loud voice, "It is way too quiet in here. What is going on?"

Kendall stabbed his chicken with his fork. "Nothing," he said quietly. "We're just tired." _And a little nervous_, the blond admitted to himself.

Mrs. Knight looked unconvinced. "Kendall," she said gently, "I know you're hurting about—"

The blond dropped his fork onto his plate with a loud clatter. "I'm not hurting about Jo," he snapped. He watched Logan and James exchange a look. "I'm not!" he suddenly screamed at them, infuriated.

"Kendall! Manners!" Mrs. Knight shot him an appalled look. "You apologize right now."

Kendall ashamedly lowered his gaze down to his green beans. "Sorry," he mumbled, feeling shittier when his friends responded with a soft "It's okay."

But he _was_ hurting over Jo—well, maybe not so much as her really, but the reason she had cut it off with him in the first place: Logan. Apparently he and Logan had "a thing," and she didn't want to get in the way of things, she had said.

"_But there's nothing going on between me and Logie!_" he had protested.

She had raised an eyebrow.

"_Logan!_" the blond had corrected himself, becoming very flustered. "_I mean, there's nothing going on between me and _Logan."

"_You say that now,_" Jo had said, her voice so low Kendall could barely hear it. "_But will it be that way in a week? Or two? Or even a month—anything can happen in a month_."

And of course Kendall had rallied right back, denying any further involvement with the said bookworm and practically crying out "_the alcohol, the alcohol,_" but Jo had refuted every argument with a rhetorical statement of her own. Finally Kendall ran out of words, and she had put an end to it all right there, icing the package with an "I hope we can be friends."

He was pissed, royally pissed. There was absolutely nothing going on between him and Logan, and it was most definitely not a reason for Jo to break up with him. He would have even preferred to lose her to Jett—not some girly theory over his sexuality.

He looked up and glanced at his friends. Logan looked paler than usual, James was crumpling a pile of napkins beside his plate, and Carlos was shoveling his vegetables around his plate. Kendall sighed and picked up his fork. He would need the energy later.

"Well." Mrs. Knight grabbed her plate and stood up, heading toward the kitchen. "Carlos, eat your greens."

Carlos let out a small sigh. "Yes, Mamma Knight."

When Kendall finished his dinner and his mother brought him an oatmeal cookie, a wave of guilt crashed over the blond. He was leaving her—the woman who had put aside all previous aspirations in order to take care of him and make sure he was well-fed, and later, the woman who had taken in three more mischievous boys under her roof in what Kendall had dubbed "The City of the Damned."

Three mischievous boys that had fallen prey to the hawk that was Hollywood.

_We have to go._

Mrs. Knight took his plate. "So what did you boys do today?" she asked.

_A lot._ Kendall rested his elbows on the table and nibbled his cookie. The first thing he had done was destroy Rocque Records's plumbing, successfully flooding the place, which prompted Gustavo to give them the rest of the day off. He had then gone to the grocery store and stocked up on a hundred dollars worth of dry goods and water, and after having shoved everything into a large cooler situated in the back of the Big Time Rush Mobile, he had began to count out his money. Three-hundred from beneath Carlos's bed, two-hundred from James's "bracelet" box (which the pretty boy had insisted was most definitely _not_ a "jewelry" box), and four-hundred from Logan's Wells Fargo account. Nine-hundred dollars, plus the six-hundred he had managed to swipe from Griffin's wallet the day before: one thousand and five-hundred dollars. He hoped it would be enough to get them home.

"Nothing," he lied. Logan cleared his throat.

James reached across the table and grabbed Kendall's napkin, crumpling it. He then added it to the growing pile by his plate. "Me and Carlos went to go visit our cow," he said quietly.

"'_Carlos and I,_'" Logan mumbled.

James rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"I'm gonna miss Bessie," Carlos said sadly as he sprinkled a bit of pepper on his food.

Kendall's eyes widened. He kicked Carlos from beneath the table, at which the Latino dropped the pepper shaker and gave a pained yelp.

Mrs. Knight raised an eyebrow. "Miss?"

Kendall sat up straight and carefully arranged his expression. "He means that—that they're moving her to another—" He suddenly sneezed, and before he had the chance to recover, his mother was already trying to wipe his nose with a napkin. "Mom, no!" he protested as he tried swatting her hand away.

Katie bust out laughing. "Looks like the ice floes are gonna have to wait," she snickered.

Mrs. Knight grabbed one of Kendall's wrists. "Kendall, hold still!" she barked, reaching for his nose again. The blond tried to squirm his way out of his chair, but just as he was about to stand up, another strong sneeze kept him rooted to the spot, providing his mother with just enough time to pinch his nose.

"Mom!" he wailed.

She gave his nose a final swipe. "There," she said triumphantly, dropping the napkin onto James's pile, much to the pretty boy's obvious disgust. She gave her son a tight hug. "I'm sorry, Kenny," she cooed, ruffling his hair and not sounding the least bit sorry, "but you're still my baby."

Another smack of guilt hit the blond. _It's not for forever_, he argued with himself. _We're coming back as soon as the Fever is gone._ He looked at his friends again. _We have to do this._

Carlos was laughing at him, and James was still glaring at the snotty napkin by his plate. But Logan—Logan looked lost. And as Kendall felt his mother kiss the top of his head, the blond noticed that the brunette looked more than just lost: nervous, anxious, depressed and a whole slew of pessimistic emotions that seemed to be the influence of his all too pasty pallor. And maybe Kendall didn't know all his reasons, but the sight of his best friend in distress was enough to reinforce the idea of going home.

* * *

At about eleven o'clock, Kendall began the last part of their operation—the packing. He set up a hockey duffel in his and Logan's room, and under the cover of the night, the boys piled together an assortment of socks, shirts, boxers and pants, as well as a few more necessities. After Kendall had made sure that James wasn't trying to smuggle his entire closet (he was, and he dutifully received an "are you kidding me" look), and that Carlos was actually bringing clothes, he sent them both away to bed. It was then that he realized Logan hadn't contributed at all.

"Logie. Come on, we're leaving in two hours."

The silent brunette was sitting cross-legged on his bed in his pajamas: a loose green and black striped sweater and gray sweats. Kendall watched him slowly trace a finger across a stitch in the bedspread before trying again. "Come on Logie—you need clothes." A sneaky thought crossed the blond's mind as soon as the words left his mouth, immediately bringing him to an ashamed blush. Jo, he decided, was definitely responsible for that one.

Logan was unresponsive for a long moment before he finally spoke. "Kendall," he said quietly before looking up, "I'm not going."

Kendall snorted. "What do you mean you're not going? Of course you're going." He crossed over to the open dresser, grabbing an armful of sweaters and polo shirts. "Now get off your butt and get your stuff."

Logan shook his head and looked away. "No, Kendall, I'm serious. I'm not going."

The blond dropped the clothes back into the drawer and whipped around. "Logan! We have to!" he hissed in shock. He thanked God his mother and Katie had taken to wearing earplugs every night.

"No, we don't. We don't have to leave at all."

Kendall flicked on the light and walked over to the bed, settling himself in front of the brunette. "Yeah we do! If we stay here, we'll just get worse and worse. Look at what happened to poor Carlos this weekend! And James—James doesn't even know who he is anymore." He paused for a moment to study Logan's reaction, but the brunette was expressionless; staring into his lap. "And how about you—and me, dude." He lowered his voice to a faint whisper when Logan stiffened. "We have to do this."

Logan began to fidget with the cuff of his sweater. "But—"

"Hollywood Fever, man! Don't you want—" Kendall grabbed Logan's hands, and when the brunette's head snapped up and he stared at him straight in the eyes, the blond immediately became wordless and his powers of persuasion fell away—and he was staring, staring into Logan's eyes, as if something was telling him—no, _demanding_ he look there; transfixed.

The moment passed.

Logan broke the spell first. He tore his hands away, and in his effort to get away from the blond, he fell over the edge of the bed with a thump and a startled yelp.

"Logie!" Kendall scrambled onto the floor and tried to pull him up, but the brunette managed to escape his grasp. He shot off the carpet and leaped over his bed, crashing onto the other one. He settled himself on it, drawing his legs up to his chest and hugging them to himself, panting.

Kendall slowly rose from the ground and walked over, cautiously taking a seat next to him. The brunette didn't acknowledge him.

"Logan," Kendall began quietly, "we have to do this."

Logan looked at him and once again, shook his head. "I'm not going," he whispered firmly. "If you guys want to go, then fine, go. But I'm not coming."

Kendall suddenly felt panicked. Logan had never refused to do something so adamantly, the closest being the time they had tricked those set designers into building them their dream apartment. "Logie, please," the blond pleaded. "You _have_ to come. You _have_ to go home. We can't go without you—_I _can't go without you." He studied the brunette's face for a second. Did he not understand that they _needed_ to go home? "_Please._"

He watched Logan draw in a long breath.

"No."

Kendall's face fell. He was silent for a very long time before he finally growled, "Fine. Stay." He stood up and kicked a sweater out of his way. "I'm getting a glass of milk," he snapped.

He was almost at the door when he heard Logan say in a small voice, "Wait."

Kendall turned around and at the sight of the traitor in pajamas, softened. "Yeah?" he asked, his tone coming out more hopeful than he liked.

"Can you bring me a glass too?"

Kendall's fingers curled into a fist. "_Sure_," he snarled before turning away.

In the dark kitchen, the blond yanked open the fridge. What the fuck was wrong with that guy? Why couldn't he understand that he needed to go home as well? He obviously didn't know what was best for himself, and quite frankly, it _pissed_ Kendall off. Fucking Logan, choosing _tonight_ to bare his teeth. And he was sober too. It was fucking ridiculous.

He snatched the milk carton out and pulled down two glasses. Well, at least there would be more resources for James, Carlos and himself. And room too, since they now had that extra seat. He took a sip of his milk. Maybe leaving Logan behind was a good thing. He wouldn't have to calm him down after every one of his constant freak-outs. True, he would have to deal with James and Carlos's antics on his own, but that was manageable, right? And he wouldn't have to worry about getting t_oo close—_

Who was he kidding? He _needed_ Logan; he had been working his plots with him since he was _a year-old_. Every operation, whether it was successful or not, had involved the brunette somehow. But how the fuck was he going to bring Logan along with him? It wasn't as if he could knock him out and steal him away in the dead of the night—

Kendall froze.

Oh God, he was going to hate himself for this. And he was definitely going to hell one day for this one. But he couldn't think of a better idea, and one glance at the clock told him that he was running out of time to do so anyway.

He set his glass down and tip-toed into the bathroom. He quietly popped open the medicine cabinet and quickly picked two large sleeping pills out of a bottle. Returning to the kitchen, he wrapped the drugs in a kitchen towel and carefully crushed them as much as he could with various kitchen items: a knife handle, the edge of the blender, and finally, a walnut-picker. Satisfied, he dumped the granular powder into the second glass and poured in the milk, mixing it with the knife. He prayed the pills would be tasteless.

After tidying up the evidence, he carefully carried the glass back to his room.

Logan had gone back to his own bed and was adjusting a big green blanket around himself. "Finally," he murmured when he saw Kendall.

Kendall made a "harrumph" noise and took in an inconspicuous, but deep breath. He handed the brunette the glass, immediately wanting to take it back.

He bit his tongue and settled himself on his own bed, wincing when he heard the soft clink of the empty glass being placed on the bedside table. "Thanks," he heard Logan say softly, and a moment later, the light flickered off.

"Yeah." And Kendall waited for what seemed to be a decade, but in reality, was fifteen minutes before he mustered up the courage to see if Logan was still awake. "Logan?"

Silence.

Kendall switched the light back on and poked the brunette. "Logie."

Nothing. Just deep, steady breathing.

The blond sighed in relief. Well, at least he was coming—although he would have to prepare himself for the panic attack of the century. But he would deal with that later—he had less than two hours before they left.

He gave the brunette a final look before emptying out the rest of his drawers.

* * *

At twenty-to-one, after Kendall had carried the fully-packed hockey duffel to a spot by the front door and had crept into James and Carlos's room and nudged them awake, he tip-toed back into his room.

After turning the light off and making sure he had their money in his pocket, he approached his best friend. He was still asleep, of course, and Kendall hoped he would stay that way for at least four more hours; long enough for them to get a considerable distance away.

Logan was going to be _so mad_ when he woke up.

Kendall sighed and slid his arms beneath the brunette, taking care to keep him bundled up in his blanket. He gently picked him up bridal style, and was about to carry him to the living room when he suddenly stopped.

Logan was snuggling into him; pressing himself harder against his chest and burying his face into the crook of his neck, his breath warm and light.

Kendall sat down, and suddenly he wasn't sixteen years-old anymore; he was a very little boy in a green dinosaur-themed flannel sleeper who had awakened from his afternoon nap to his best friend's snuggles. He could still see him now: his yellow pajamas and soft brown hair and sleepy smile, curled up against him.

He hugged the swaddled brunette tighter to himself, smiling when the dark hair tickled his chin.

"I'm so glad you're coming," the blond whispered, closing his eyes. "Even if you're gonna hate me for a while."

"Kendall?" a sleepy voice asked.

Kendall's eyes snapped open. Carlos was standing at the doorway, clutching a woolen purple blanket that had crumpled at his feet. "Are we still going?" he yawned.

"Yeah." Making sure he had a good grip on the brunette, Kendall stood up and walked Carlos out into the living room, where they found James waiting by the front door. The pretty boy gestured toward Logan. "What's up with him?"

Kendall shook his head. "Don't worry about it." He looked at the clock, and seeing that it was time to go, he told his friends to leave their cellphones on the counter. After that had been done, he asked James to hold out his arms.

"Why?" the pretty boy asked.

Kendall tucked the blanket beneath the brunette. "You have to carry Logan. Here." He gave his best friend another squeeze before gingerly passing James the precious bundle.

He took a step back, his arms feeling strangely empty and his chest cold. He pushed the feeling away. "Okay, now go to the car. Put him in the backseat with Carlos, and stay there. I'll be there in a minute."

He watched them disappear out the door; Carlos sleepily dragging his blanket behind him. Then he took their phones, and after finding Logan's tucked away by his bed, deleted all their messages and call histories. After that had been done and he had put them all in a drawer, he took a notepad and pen from Logan's backpack and settled himself at the table.

_ Dear Mom and Katie,_

_ Don't worry about us, we're okay. We have food and water. We don't know when we're coming back, but please, don't worry about us. We have to do this._

_ I know what I'm doing._

_ I love you, Mom. I love you too, Katie._

_ Kendall_

He tore the sheet out of the pad and set it on the kitchen counter, where he knew his mother would see it. He then tip-toed to her bedroom doorway, where he found her asleep in her full bed, with Katie in her own on the opposite end of the large room.

He felt like punching himself in the stomach until he passed out. He was leaving them, just like his father had.

_This is different_, he immediately thought, rebuking his conscience. _Totally different. We have the Fever, and I have to do something about it. Tonight is going to save us._

He briefly wondered what went through his father's mind the night he left, but he quickly shoved the thought away.

_I'm not my dad_, he reassured himself. Still, the tears threatened to come, so he widened his eyes and took in a couple of deep breaths. _It's not for forever. It's not for forever._

He sniffled a little. He would have to remember to grab a box of tissues when they stopped for gas.

He gave his mother and sister one last longing look before grabbing the hockey duffel.

He left, swallowing back the urge to cry when he heard the lock click.

* * *

_End of Part One_

* * *

**I'm finally one-third of the way done with this story. You don't know how great that feels.**


	16. Hair of the Dog That Bit You

**Guess who had writer's block... *sighs***  
**But, I'd like to give a GIANT thank you to those who encouraged me. This one's for you. :)**

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Carlos wished he could fall asleep. Two uneventful hours on the road that gave way to the Joshua tree-dotted Mojave Desert landscape and his favorite blanket should have done the trick—but no, he was still wide awake as ever.

Unfortunately, he couldn't say the same for his arm. Logan had fallen against it, and since he was dead unconscious, he did nothing to move away.

Carlos tried to gently nudge the brunette off, and when that didn't work, the Latino gave a little growl. "Get. Off."

Kendall looked away from the steering wheel just long enough to shoot him a look. "Don't wake him up," he warned.

Carlos looked at him and pouted. "But my arm's asleep!" he protested.

The blond hummed for a moment. "Stretch him out and put his head in your lap. But be careful."

James whipped his head around. "Why can't he just push him against the side of the car?"

"Because then he'll be all sore tomorrow," Kendall said in a matter-of-fact tone.

James drew in a huffy breath. "So?"

The blond glared at him. The pretty boy scowled and turned back around. He flipped his hair, and even the night, Carlos could see his strands throw off a mad glint of moonshine.

"James, your hair is really shiny," he commented innocently as he shoved Logan onto his back.

James whipped around and grinned. "I know," he said eagerly, "I use Cuda Super Hydro Ion-Infused Mega-Watt Pomegranate-seed Extract and Avocado-Boom—" Carlos's eyes grew very wide as James went on: "—Super Z-Complex with a Lucky-Magazine-Yes-sticker-of-approval from Johnny Bravo Conditioner—_in Awesome_." He waggled his fingers in front of his face. "_Better Wear Your Cuda_."

Carlos took off his helmet and rubbed his left temple.

He didn't have the faintest clue who Johnny Bravo was, but at least he knew what Lucky stickers were. The blonde Jennifer always carried a sheet in her bag and stuck them on things she liked, and it had been the Latino's mission to score a _Yes_ on his forehead for about a month, but that had obviously never happened.

He dropped the helmet onto the floor by his feet. "That's a really long name," he said lamely.

James rolled his eyes and flipped his hair again. "And now, my hair is so shiny it should be a lighthouse. You can recognize it _from miles away_." He beamed. "Miles and miles and miles and even more miles and then some more miles and..."

It was then Carlos suddenly noticed Kendall.

The blond wasn't even focusing on the road anymore: he was staring at James; his eyes locked in that fierce look of determination.

He pulled over to the side of the road.

James stopped talking and gave him an inquiring look. "Why are we stopping?"

Kendall didn't answer. Instead, he turned the car off and the road plunged into a near darkness that only the moon and the stars managed to illuminate.

The hair on the back of Carlos's neck began to rise.

He watched the blond reach across James and a moment later, Carlos heard the pop of the glove compartment's hinge and some rustling.

He came up brandishing a switchblade. He snapped it open.

James jumped against the car door. "O-Okay, dude, really—w-why are we stopping?"

Carlos gave a very nervous swallow.

Kendall stared the pretty boy down. "Your hair," he said in a very clear, calm voice, "has to go."

Carlos's mouth dropped open.

James grew very pale. "W-What do you mean?" he choked.

Kendall didn't blink. "It's an 'x-marks-the-spot.' You even said it's recognizable from miles away."

The pretty boy's breathing began to come out in short gasps. "Yeah but—"

He screamed when Kendall reached for his head, throwing himself out of the car and into the dry dirt. He sprinted down the road, and a split-second later, Kendall clicked the knife shut and tore after him; a cloud of dusting rising behind them.

Horror coursed through the Latino's veins like a team of betting horses. He shoved Logan off of his lap and scrambled out of the car, running after them. The loose dust burned his eyes and throat, but he ignored it and pressed on.

"Leave my hair alone!" the pretty boy screamed about forty feet ahead.

"YOU GUYS" Carlos pleaded with a heavy gasp, "STOP!"

Kendall ignored him. "We're _never_ gonna get back to Minnesota if you don't cut it!" he yelled after James.

"YES WE ARE!" The pretty boy looked back over his shoulder. "I'll wear a—"

He tripped; flipping over into a rough somersault and a very loud yelp. A second later, Kendall was on him, and Carlos staggered up to them just as James's shrieks hit an all new octave.

"JAMES, HOLD THE FUCK STILL!" Kendall screeched as he struggled to pin him down.

The pretty boy tried to kick him off. "YOU CAN'T CUT MY HAIR!" he screamed. He shot Carlos a wild, desperate look. "Carlos, tell him he can't!"

Carlos was taken aback.

Everything seemed to plunge into slow motion; his friends' screams and struggles growing as tinny as a 2006 ring tone.

_Carlos, tell him he can't._

_ Tell him he can't._

_ **Tell him.**_

It was one thing for him to disobey and refuse to do what he was told (which of course, he did a lot of)—but it was a _completely different_ matter for him to actually command; pretend authority. It was unthinkable, and as far as he knew, _unspoken_ of.

He was the lowest dog on the rung. The scapegoat. The one who was supposed to try to alleviate conflict by way of distraction. It was just the way things were, and the universe was pretty consistent in reminding him of where his exact place amongst his immediate circle and the rest of the population was.

He couldn't tell Kendall what to do. _It was just the way things were._

And just like that, the world seemed to snap back to its normal speed.

"I promise I'll wear a hat! Just please, please don't cut it!"

"James, I've known you way too long to fall for that one!"

Kendall had grabbed James by the waist, and the two were smeared in dust and scratches. The pretty boy was a frantic mess of limbs; he elbowed Kendall in the stomach, and for a moment it looked as if he was actually going to escape. But the blond quickly recovered and flipped him over, forcing him onto his stomach. He climbed onto his back, grabbing a fistful of hair when the pretty boy tried to roll over.

"JAMES!" he snarled, pulling the hair away from his face, "HOLD THE FUCK STILL!"

James began to shriek again. "NO! PLEASE KENDALL, NO!" But even as he pleaded, Kendall brought out the switchblade and a second later, a tuft of brown hair spilled onto the dirt in front of them.

Carlos's stomach rolled.

James began to sob uncontrollably. He dropped his face down into the dust and let out a wail so pitiful that it seemed to tear through Carlos's insides.

The Latino fell to his knees and began to cry.

Over James's obvious distress, over the way he sobbed as if he were in physical pain; over the fact that this was the way things needed to be, and that there was nothing in the world he himself could do to change that.

A snippet of hair brushed over his right hand. He flung it away and looked up in the direction where it had come from, watching Kendall slice the blade through the glossy curtain over and over again. The blond's eyes were narrowed with determination, but the longer Carlos watched, the more grief-filled they became.

He brought his gaze back down to James, who was still wailing and gasping into the dirt as if he had just discovered he had been buried alive. Hair littered the ground around him, and even then, the disembodied locks shone like diamonds.

Carlos choked back a sob.

If only he hadn't opened his mouth.

If only he just gone into a dead sleep like Logan.

"I'm so sorry, Jamie," he sniffled. He took hold of his best friend's hand and squeezed it. A tear slid off his chin and dropped onto the clasp, but the Latino didn't move.

James squeezed him back.

And just like that, Carlos was gone.

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"_¡__No quiero ir!_" the five year-old protested, struggling to pull the navy polo shirt over his head. "I wanna stay here!"

His mother knelt down in front of him and pulled his shirt back down over the waist of his khakis. "But don't you want to go to school like your _hermanas_? There'll be lots of other _ni__ñ__os_ to play with too."

Carlos shook his head vigorously and tried to kick of his brown loafers. "_¡No quiero!_"

"But doesn't it sound fun—"

"No!"

"But you'll make lots of new—"

"NO!"

Sufficient to say, after this cycle had repeated itself a few more times, Carlos was finally convinced—though it took a well-placed slipper and a loud yelp to do the job—to get into his father's car and let himself be buckled in between his two chatty sisters. But it didn't stop him from pouting the entire drive there, even when the girls told him about the petting zoo that was usually brought in on the first day. And he had already met his teacher, Ms. Laney, a few days earlier, but he just didn't want to go.

After the car had been parked and the girls had run off through the school gate without so much as a backwards glance, Mrs. Garcia stepped out and pulled her son out of the backseat. "Carlos," she said sternly, "you have to go to school."

The little boy stomped his foot.

Mr. Garcia got up and made his way around the vehicle. "Is something wrong?"

His mother shook her head and climbed back in. "Don't pay attention to him—he's just being _necio._"

Carlos pouted.

His father looked at him and sighed. "_Mira, hijo_," he said as he crouched down to the five year-old's level, "I know it looks scary out there. But you're going to have to go—after all" —he patted his white helmet— "You want to be just like your _papi_, right?"

Carlos's face lit up a little.

His father looked at him for a moment and smiled. "Here." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, and a couple of seconds later, produced a small, well-worn family portrait. He handed it to his son. "_Tomelo_. That way when you're lonely or scared, your _familia_ will be with you."

The five year-old clutched the photo tightly. "But won't you get lonely?" he asked worriedly.

Mr. Garcia laughed and gave him a hug. "Don't worry about me." He let go of him and stood up. "Now go."

Carlos looked over at his mother, and a split-second later, he found himself in her tight hug. "Be good, okay?" she said as she let him go. "Make friends."

He nodded and turned around. He held the photo tighter.

The school's courtyard was, in fact, a full-blown petting zoo: noisy llamas and hungry goats and tan sheep and pink pigs and a big pen of quacking ducks. All kinds of children ran past him: big kids and girls with sparkling navy hair-bows and boys who looked like T.V. meanies; a rumbling sea of navy and khaki. He spotted his sisters by the sheep, and began to slowly trudge off in their direction, walking alongside the goat pen.

Across the ways he noticed a gaggle of girls who looked to be seven and eight years-old, and amongst them was a boy that looked to be about his age. He had a full head of shiny, shiny brown hair and the girls seemed to be marveling over it; one of them running a little pink plastic comb through it as if it belonged to a carefully painted porcelain doll. Carlos watched them for a bit, wondering if that boy would be his friend and play with him, when he suddenly felt something tug at his fingers.

He turned and found a loose goat nibbling away the last bit of whatever had been in his hands.

The color drained from his face. The photo!

"Give it back, you bad goat!" he screeched as he tried pulling the portrait out of the goat's mouth. When it didn't work, he desperately worked to pry the animal's jaws open. A small crowd of children gathered to watch. Tears flooded his eyes. "Give it back!" he cried, managing to open a wide-enough space to peer into, but it was too late. The goat had eaten the picture.

"You bad goat!" Carlos wailed, pushing the animal away. Now he would be lonely all day! He threw himself onto the grass and sobbed, kicking his feet and pounding his fists against the ground as hard as he could until Ms. Laney pulled him up.

"Carlos Garcia! What happened?" She crouched down to his level and pulled a tissue from her dress pocket. "Did you fall down?" She tried to wipe his face, but the five year-old began to cry even harder. "M-Mean goat... _P-Papi_... _F-Familia_... L-Lonely—" He pulled his shirt collar over his face.

Ms. Laney quickly pulled it back down and continued to wipe. "I think you need a friend," she said gently, "and to face the goat."

Carlos liked the sound of having a friend, but he never wanted to see another goat again. He briefly wondered if the boy with shiny, shiny brown hair would be his friend, and if he liked goats.

He sniffled a little as the teacher wiped his nose and took hold of his hand. "Come along now," she said as she led him across the courtyard and into the kindergarten classroom, where they were met with an interesting sight:

The brown-haired boy was sitting on the counter, screaming and crying as another teacher desperately tried to untangle a hair-bow from his hair. The girls Carlos had seen him with earlier were all sitting in a line against the wall; looks of guilt and fright painted across their faces.

Sufficient to say, Ms. Laney also tried to free the boy's hair, but in the end, scissors were needed. But the boy began to cry so hard that something deep _within_ Carlos started to hurt, and soon, he was wailing just as loudly.

Carlos didn't remember very much after that, on account of too much crying. But in his next memory he knew the boy's name was James. And that he wanted to be _best_ friends.

Ms. Laney had taken them back outside and over to the goat pen where, much to Carlos's disgust, the "mean" goat had been re-corralled. "Carlos," Ms. Laney said gently, "I need you to pet the goat."

Carlos pouted and crossed his arms. "No."

She grasped his shoulder. "Carlos," she said in a warning tone.

The five year-old stubbornly sat down on the grass, where he was quickly joined by a still-somewhat-sniffling James. "Why? That goat ate my picture."

"Because," Ms. Laney said as she pulled him back onto his feet. "you need to see that the goat isn't going to eat you too, and a little 'hair of the dog that bit you' never hurt."

Carlos glared at the goat. He reached out to touch it, but quickly retracted. What if it tried biting his fingers? And where was the dog the teacher was talking about? Frustrated, his lip began to quiver.

He felt another small hand slip into his.

He looked at James for a brief moment, and without another thought, reached out and stroked the goat's wiry nose. He then looked back at his friend.

Ms. Laney said something, but he didn't hear her.

Then, at that very moment, Carlos decided he _did _want to be best friends with James.

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And here they were, eleven years later: somewhere in the Mojave Desert, struggling against the force that was nature's law—and yet, still holding hands like the two little boys they were.

It took a few minutes for Carlos to notice that the bits of hair had stopped falling. He brushed away his tears with his free hand, and with a heavy heart, slowly lifted his eyes away from his and James's hands. His stomach filled with dread.

Kendall had pretty much destroyed James's hair. It was about three inches long in the front, and up to a varying five in the back—a haphazard mullet that looked as if an envious Billy Ray had hacked at it out of spite.

Carlos squeezed his hand tighter.

Kendall shut the knife and slowly stood up. He stepped over the still-sobbing pretty boy and extended his hand. "James. Get up."

James lifted his head.

Carlos swallowed back another wave of tears. There was dirt smeared all over James's face. Glittery wet eyelashes framed bloodshot eyes; and he looked lost, confused, appalled and hurt all at once.

James shot Kendall's hand a death glare. He gave Carlos a squeeze and let go of him, sniffling as he stood up. "I don't need anybody's help," he half-growled, half-hiccuped under his breath.

Carlos bit his lip and looked at Kendall.

The blond opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but after a long moment, closed it. He turned around and began to walk back to the car.

Carlos followed after him, stalling just long enough to make sure that James was coming as well. They trudged on in silence; the only sound being that of their footfalls and James's whimpered hiccups.

When they reached the car, Kendall walked directly over to the passenger's door and opened it. He gave Carlos a look, and the Latino immediately climbed into the backseat, where he pulled a still-unconscious Logan off of the floor and back onto the seat. He then looked at James, redirecting his attention when Kendall spoke.

"James," the blond whispered faintly.

James ignored him.

"James, please—"

"H-How could—" the pretty boy cracked, and Carlos began to feel sicker when he started sobbing again.

"I didn't—"

"Don't even fucking talk to me, Kendall!" James screamed. He furiously wiped his eyes, smearing the dirt around his face even more. "Just STOP!" He climbed over the front seat and dropped into the back, where Carlos quickly scrambled to make room. "I'm not sitting with you," the pretty boy growled back at Kendall.

Kendall was silent for a long time. He then lowered his gaze and climbed into the driver's seat, starting the ignition.

James continued to sob. He covered his face with his hands, but Carlos could feel him shaking; a shaking that spoke of rage, disbelief and grief.

And Logan slept on.

Carlos felt as if he were going to vomit.

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**A request of some sort: If you leave a review, could you drop a comment about my writing style? I've been thinking about that lately. :) Thank you!**


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